


Love Will Find a Way

by amine



Series: Delinquent AU [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse, Relationship Problems, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, True Love, Trust Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 115,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11456454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amine/pseuds/amine
Summary: A series of stories about how a troubled delinquent and an overwhelmed student go from a dysfunctional sexual relationship to an awkward romance.





	1. Background

So…yes. I’ve decided to repost my AU with some caveats.

The first is that this will only include plot relevant stories. If you read it before, you probably know that there was a lot of extra stuff in there that didn’t advance the plot at all. Those will be left out.

The second is that although I might make minor edits, I will otherwise post them as is. Warning: My earlier work was rather rough.

The final and most important thing is that I cannot get over my discontent with the earliest stories, and therefore I will not post them again. I realize that means that some seriously major plot elements are missing, but I will try my best to recap them so that subsequent stories will not be missing context. If it becomes an issue, let me know and I’ll do my best to clear things up.

The first story I’ll post will be when Matthew goes to visit Alfred at his university and meets Arthur for the first time. Updates will be approximately once a week. 

**Recap:**  
The story begins with Arthur, a delinquent from an abusive family who intentionally represses his emotions, meeting Alfred, who is a model student who is being crushed under the weight of expectations from his family, while Alfred is working a part-time summer job at a fast food restaurant. Although their first meeting is just Alfred asking Arthur not to loiter around and bother the customers, Arthur becomes fascinated with Alfred and starts to seek him out. When Alfred goes back to school in the fall, Arthur follows him there and his fascination reaches a point where he enrolls in the school to keep being around Alfred. They eventually start a sexual relationship.

Gilbert, another delinquent who intentionally left his well-to-do family because he didn’t want to be the son they expected him to be, notices that Arthur’s fascination with Alfred runs much deeper than desire for sex or simple entertainment. Because Gilbert’s relationship with Arthur is a love/hate relationship that is more about mutual benefits (sex, alcohol, partner-in-(literal)-crime, etc.), he doesn’t call Arthur out on this, but they have a fight over what Gilbert considers to be a potentially corrupting influence (because he’s not so secretly worried about his younger brother), and they part ways. This leaves Arthur to exclusively spend time with Alfred.

All the while, Alfred’s feelings for Arthur grow, but his attempts to normalize their relationship constantly backfire because of Arthur’s emotional wall. He eventually agrees to go on a date with a friend of his to make her happy, but Arthur catches them and tries to assert that Alfred belongs to him. This declaration makes Alfred snap, since he’d been hoping to make Arthur fall for him and instead believed he was seen as nothing more than a possession to fool around with. He makes it clear that he doesn’t belong to anyone, which is enough for Arthur to start to panic that Alfred might push him away. After sex (with Arthur topping from the bottom rather than topping), Alfred declares his love for Arthur.

Hearing the words from Alfred makes Arthur have a complete breakdown. He’d been falling in love with Alfred the entire time they’d been together, but because he intentionally ignored his emotions to protect himself from the pain of them, he hadn’t noticed until that moment when he was forced to face his feelings. He runs from Alfred and avoids him for several weeks. During that time, he tries to move on, but having to face his feelings means he can’t ignore them anymore, so he suffers in a personally made hell. 

Eventually he has to admit to himself that he wants to be with Alfred, and so he seeks him out again. Although he can’t admit his love out loud, he does confess his desire to be with Alfred, who happily accepts him. They start an awkward romantic relationship.

When Alfred leaves for college, he asks Arthur to come live with him, which Arthur accepts. That’s about where the story will pick up when I post an actual fic, ha ha.

 **So, in short:**  
Arthur has some serious emotional issues connected to an abusive family and his very unhealthy coping mechanisms. He falls in love with Alfred but has trouble accepting both his own love for Alfred and Alfred’s love for him and reconciling that love with his feelings of inadequacy. Those things are a big driving force behind this story.

Alfred also has some issues, especially with self-confidence and asserting himself, but they’re much subtler. 

This is a story of how they grow as people and as a couple ~~(and how I grew as a writer, I really am sorry for how rough the early stories are aaaahhh)~~. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	2. Don't Dream It's Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matthew goes to visit Alfred at school and meet the mysterious person his brother fell in love with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a legit fic, and I'll probably update near the beginning of the week in general from here on out. :)

From the moment he was born, Matthew has always been in Alfred’s shadow. Alfred is the golden first son, full of promise, and meanwhile he’s just “Alfred’s younger brother”, if he’s noticed outside of his family at all.

Of course his family notices him, and he’s well taken care of, but there’s really no doubt about who has their parents’ favor. Alfred, who brings home flawless report cards. Who is good at sports. Who goes out of his way to help the community. Who everyone likes and admires.

To say he doesn’t resent his older brother would be a lie. He’s always quick to point out Alfred’s faults when the opportunity arises, and in some of his darkest moments he’s wished that some sort of harm would befall him. In the end, though, he doesn’t _hate_ Alfred, because for all his problems, Alfred still treats him better than anyone else does. Alfred genuinely works hard to earn the respect he’s given, too.

So Matt, always in his brother’s shadow, never thought he’d see the day when Alfred would start to _lose_ their parents’ favor.

* * *

The old Greyhound bus smells like several of its passengers haven’t showered in days, and Matt wrinkles his nose as he clutches his backpack close to his chest and looks for an empty seat. As usual, no one takes particular notice of him as he squeezes past legs jutting out into the aisle and flops into an empty seat next to the window. He lets out a sigh and opens up his bag, where his old stuffed polar bear is crammed on top.

He’ll never tell anyone, but the bear is his own version of a security blanket. He’d received it as a birthday present when he was just a small boy, and he vaguely remembers giving it a name, but what that name was, he doesn’t remember. Kuma-something. Nowadays he just calls it “Bear” and whenever possible, he carries it with him, and for this trip in particular, he knows he’ll need it. 

He has a four day weekend off from school thanks to some teacher conferences, and Alfred had offered to pay for a bus ticket if he wanted to come visit for the weekend. He’d agreed, but now he’s starting to regret it. It’s not just Alfred he’ll be visiting, but Alfred’s _boyfriend_ , too.

Oh yes, Alfred’s boyfriend. It was bad enough for their parents when Alfred announced that not only was he not going to attend their university of choice for him, but he wasn’t going into medicine like they wanted, either. No, then he had to go and drop another bombshell while they were eating dinner one night.

“I have a boyfriend!!” he blurted out suddenly after spending several minutes pushing his potatoes around on his plate.

Their mother’s wine glass shattered on the floor and Matt almost thought their father would slice right through his steak and into the plate as all eyes turned to stare at Alfred’s bright red face.

“You mean _girl_ friend, right, son?” his father asked, obviously hoping that Alfred had just misspoke. Their mother gave Alfred an incredulous look, hoping that she had just misheard him.

Alfred’s face turned an even brighter shade of red, but he lifted his chin and shook his head.

“No, I mean boyfriend. He’s going to come with me when I leave for school, too. I…I’d appreciate it if you would accept this!” Alfred said and tried to hold his chin up against the slowly darkening faces of both of their parents.

Their mother stood up instantly and left the room in a hurry, and, after staring at Alfred for a few more moments, their father followed shortly after.

Alfred’s face was full of dismay as he turned to Matt and said, “Mattie, you’re okay with this, right?”

Matt sputtered wordlessly for a moment, completely caught off guard. He never would have imagined that Alfred, who was popular with the ladies and always dated really cute girls, would wind up with a boyfriend. It didn’t seem…right.

But the look on Alfred’s face said that his entire life depended on his brother’s approval, and Matt swallowed thickly and then nodded.

“Y-Yeah, Al. You can love whoever you want, it’s fine with me.”

He wasn’t lying when he said it, because he always thought it didn’t matter if two boys or two girls fell in love, but that didn’t stop his shock from knowing that his brother, who was only ever interested in girls, fell for a boy instead.

Alfred’s face brightened in relief at his brother’s acceptance, but that was short lived. The days before Alfred’s departure for school were spent in a tense silence. When they weren’t ignoring him completely, their parents were constantly telling Alfred things like how they weren’t going to pay a penny for his schooling and how his supposed boyfriend would never be welcome in their family, among other things.

Matt had often thought about Alfred falling from grace somehow and losing their parents’ favor, but actually seeing it happen wasn’t satisfying in the least. Alfred looked progressively more and more depressed with each passing day. He really had been counting on their mother and father accepting his choices, and that they didn’t, and that they were rebuffing him on top of everything else, was something he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

On the day of his departure, it was only Matt who stood with Alfred in the driveway as he packed his remaining things into his car and trailer.

“You’ll come visit sometime, right? I want you to see the campus and meet Arthur. I bet you two would really like each other.”

“Sure, Al.”

Alfred nodded at him and smiled before he turned an anxious look back at the house. When there were no faces in the window, Alfred sighed and gave Matt a quick hug before he climbed into his beat up car and was on his way. Matt watched until Alfred’s car disappeared down the block and around the corner, then went back into the house. Though he might have been out of their good graces, their parents still spent most of their time talking (or more correctly, arguing) about Alfred. They believed that he was just going through a phase, and he’d come around eventually. For once, Matt had been glad he was overlooked.

“May I sit here?” a voice interrupts Matt’s thoughts and he literally jumps out of his seat in surprise. He turns to see a flaxen-haired girl about his age standing in the aisle clutching a bag, and he quickly closes his own backpack before she can see the bear within, then he nods.

“Go right ahead!”

She nods and gently sits down in the adjacent seat, and it’s then that Matt notices the fancy dress she’s wearing. He chooses not to ask why she’s wearing a dress and smiles shyly at her instead.

“Going somewhere fun?” he asks, hoping it doesn’t sound as awkward as he thinks it does. She smiles, so she must not think so, at least.

“I’m going to visit my brother,” she says.

“That’s what I’m doing, too!” he responds brightly, happy for a topic of conversation.

“Oh! Maybe they know each other?”

“Maybe! Um, I’m Matt, by the way…”

“My name is Lili, it’s nice to meet you…”

Lili is very soft-spoken, just like he is, but they manage to maintain a conversation that makes the long bus ride go by much quicker than it might have had he been forced to amuse himself. She clearly adores her older brother, although the way she describes him makes him frightened before he’s even met the guy. In return, he tries not to sound as bitter about Alfred as he really feels. Before he knows it, the bus pulls into its destination and the passengers are shuffling to get off.

With some final exchanges that they hope they’ll meet again, Lili follows the line of people leaving the bus and Matt follows behind. Once she steps off the bus, she’s quickly ushered off by an angry looking boy, who doesn’t give her the chance to finish her delighted greeting before she’s dragged away from the group of people gathered and waiting for their loved ones to appear. Matt watches her vanish briefly before he sets his sights on the crowd, looking for a sign of his older brother.

“Mattie!” a voice calls and Matt turns to see Alfred standing by a line of vending machines and waving enthusiastically. Matt rolls his eyes at Alfred’s antics, but swings his backpack onto his back and makes his way over to his brother.

“Good to see you, kid! Long ride?” Alfred asks as he holds out his fist to Matt.

He lifts his fist and knocks it against Alfred’s, earning a bright grin in response. “Sort of. I was talking with a girl the whole time.”

“Oh really? Mattie’s got a girlfriend, eh?” Alfred says with a mischievous grin, and Matt’s face burns as he punches Alfred’s shoulder.

“No! That’s not it at all!” he shouts in response, and then he freezes, the mention of a girlfriend reminding him that he’s going to meet Alfred’s boyfriend in a very short amount of time. The prospect terrifies him.

Alfred, of course, doesn’t notice and carries on like his usual oblivious self. “Sorry, sorry. Can’t help an awesome big brother wanting to tease his dorky little brother, right? Anyway, let’s get going before the dinner I made gets cold!”

“ _You_ made dinner?” Matt asks incredulously, ignoring the dorky comments, and follows Alfred to where he parked his sorry excuse for a car.

Alfred puffs out his chest and smirks as he opens the driver’s side door and slides into the seat. “That’s right! And it’s five star cuisine if I do say so myself!”

“Doubt it,” Matt mumbles as he climbs into the car, but Alfred is oblivious. He doesn’t have a chance to feel anxious before Alfred starts up the car, which prompts the radio to blast the music it had been playing before it stopped. To Matt’s great horror, this means that Alfred belts out a horrible rendition of “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?” in time to Rod Stewart on the radio.

“No, you’re _not_ sexy! Shut up, Al!” Matt shouts over the noise, but all that serves to do is make Alfred sing louder and give him a smug grin as he does so. As they stop at a light, the passengers of the car next to them turn to look at Alfred in a mix of amusement and horror, and Matt tries to sink into his seat where he won’t be seen. His brother is such an idiot sometimes, and this is a prime example of the less than stellar behavior he exhibits sometimes.

The end of the car ride doesn’t come soon enough for Matt’s tastes, but the second he scrambles out of the car, he’s struck with the anxiety he’d briefly forgotten about. Alfred ushers him out of the garage and into the lobby of the apartment building, where he hits the button for the elevator. He continues to hum the song and Matt gives him an irritated look in response. Alfred grins brightly just as the elevator doors slide open and two men with a small white dog step off. The taller of the two men is absolutely terrifying, but thankfully their eyes never meet, and Alfred pulls him onto the elevator anyway.

Matt starts trembling as they reach the correct floor and start off down the hallway to Alfred’s apartment. He pulls his backpack off his back and clutches it to his chest as a replacement for Bear inside, and he has to struggle to return Alfred’s smile as he opens the door to his apartment and ushers him inside.

“Hey, Arthur! My little brother is here!” Alfred calls into the apartment, and shortly after another boy appears.

Matt is not sure what he was expecting when he met Alfred’s boyfriend, but this person in front of him is definitely not it. He has the look of a rough and tough street punk who is trying _not_ to look like one and failing. From his posture to what is probably a permanent scowl on his face to those piercings and unkempt hair and enormous eyebrows, everything screams that he’s some sort of juvenile hall escapee. Alfred is really in love with this guy?

“Pleasure to meet you,” Arthur says and holds out his hand. He has a slight accent, but it’s so muddled that it’s barely there.

Matt looks at the proffered hand and is embarrassed when he realizes that he’s afraid to take it in his. Alfred moves behind Arthur and gives Matt an imploring look. Although his hand is shaking like a leaf, he manages to lift it to grasp Arthur’s.

“L-Likewise!” he chokes out, and Alfred beams.

“Time for dinner now, you guys!” Alfred says brightly and Matt takes a seat at the small table. Predictably, Alfred’s “five star cuisine” is just hamburgers made on the stove, but it’s food that is eaten quickly, which is a relief considering that they spend the meal in an awkward silence while Alfred fails to make conversation. Arthur looks intimidating and yet impassive the whole time, and Matt wonders once again if Alfred is really in love with someone like him.

It’s late by the time they’re finished, and Alfred shows him into a bedroom, which looks like no one ever sleeps in there. This brings Matt the revelation that Alfred and Arthur must sleep together, and his face burns just thinking about it. Of course Alfred can sleep with whoever he wants, but Matt doesn’t want to know about it, and he most certainly hopes he won’t have to overhear anything that suggests his brother might be in some sort of compromising position. Hopefully they’ll control themselves for the duration of his stay, at least.

“Night, Mattie!” Alfred says as he closes the door behind him. Matt sighs and pulls Bear out of his backpack and places it on the bed. He retrieves his toothbrush and carefully steps into the hallway, relieved to see that the other bedroom door is shut, but no noises are coming from it. Regardless, this might be a long weekend.

* * *

The next morning, Matt is treated to a breakfast that’s more butter than anything else, but he can’t turn down the prospect of a stack of pancakes drowning in maple syrup. Once again Alfred tries and fails to make conversation, and Arthur looks detached as he picks at his food. Matt just sits quietly and eats his pancakes, that is until Arthur stands up.

“I’ll be leaving then,” he says and starts to turn away.

“Ah-” Alfred gasps and quickly stands, as well. He grabs a hold of Arthur’s arm and turns him back around, then holds his face and kisses him. Arthur’s eyes slide shut, and Matt blushes brightly as he looks decidedly away from his brother kissing his boyfriend so openly in front of him. Eventually they must stop, because Alfred mumbles a goodbye, then Matt hears the door open and then close. He looks up to see Alfred sitting back at the table and smiling at him.

“So do you want to come hang out with me on campus today? You can probably sit in on some of my lectures if you want!” 

“I don’t know, Al. That might not-”

“Or you could hang out here and wait for Arthur to come home if you want.”

“I’ll go with you!” Matt says in a hurry, terrified of the prospect of being alone with someone he is afraid might hurt him if he says something wrong. Alfred simply grins and quickly shovels what’s left of his food into his mouth.

As promised, Matt manages to sit in on Alfred’s lectures, although everything that’s taught goes right over his head. Science has always been Alfred’s subject, and he listens intently to everything that’s said. Matt meanwhile sits with Alfred’s laptop and surfs the web to entertain himself. A folder on Alfred’s desktop labeled “photos” catches his attention, and he looks quickly over at Alfred, who is still entranced with whatever the professor is saying, then he clicks on it. 

The first batch of photos isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before. Pictures of their family trips, birthdays and other such things. Then there’s photos of Alfred with his teammates, him hanging out with his friends, and his high school graduation. Finally Matt comes across a completely different set of pictures, which he realizes must be from when he and Arthur made the drive from their hometown to their new apartment. In each picture Alfred beams at the camera while Arthur simply looks irritated against a different state line or tourist attraction. After those pictures are ones that Alfred must have taken without Arthur’s knowledge, because they’re pictures of him reading and eating, among other things. When he finds a picture of Arthur sleeping, he quickly closes the file and folder and opens up Solitaire instead. Alfred doesn’t take any notice of what he’s doing, to his great relief.

He’s aware of one thing now for sure, though. Alfred is head over heels, over the moon, ridiculously and madly in love with Arthur, although he still doesn’t really understand why. It’s not that Arthur’s a boy, that’s not it at all, it’s the sort of person Arthur is. Rough and dangerous, someone who might hurt Alfred or otherwise get him in trouble. Besides that, it doesn’t seem as though Alfred’s feelings are returned, which makes Matt wonder if Arthur is in this relationship because it’s convenient for him in some way. For all he resents his brother sometimes, he doesn’t want him to get hurt like that. He should be with someone who will reciprocate his feelings, because he knows that Alfred is passionate about the things he cares for.

After hours of sitting through boring lectures that Alfred somehow finds riveting, they eat a quick meal and then Alfred holds out his hand as Matt stands to follow his brother to the next class.

“I have lab now, so you can’t tag along this time. Why don’t you hang out here and I’ll meet you right after?”

He has no choice but to agree, since he doesn’t know the campus well enough to go explore, and the commons are as good a place as any to wait for Alfred. He watches people for awhile and plays a few more games of Solitaire before he decides that sitting on the steps outside might be a better idea. The chairs of his table are taken one by one without anyone asking him if it’s okay, and someone nearly taking the chair he’s _sitting_ on is enough for him to want to leave.

There’s a pleasant breeze as he sits outside and continues his previous people watching. He watches a couple boys play catch with a football and listens to a group of girls chattering about their cute TA, then his eyes fall onto Arthur approaching him and he panics.

“Hello,” Arthur says as he takes a seat next to him. Matt just gapes, and Arthur answers his unspoken question. “Your brother wanted me to meet you two here.”

Matt nods and stares at the ground as Arthur reaches into his jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. He pulls one out and lights it up, and Matt tries not to wrinkle his nose. He thinks smoking is disgusting and he knows that Alfred does, too. But he must put up with Arthur’s smoking, only leading to the further mystery of why and how they’re together.

The silence between them is painfully awkward, although Arthur looks just as indifferent as ever. He almost wants to ask how Arthur met Alfred, but he’s afraid it might be something along the lines of “I held him up at knife point, but rather than money, he gave me his heart.”

So instead he chews on his lip and wishes that he brought Bear with him, since he feels horribly uncomfortable with Arthur sitting so close to him like that without Alfred to damage control. He steals a glance at Arthur as he blows out a cloud of smoke and wonders if Arthur is really just using Alfred somehow, for some sort of personal gain that will only spell upset for his clueless, trusting older brother. It makes a rare streak of overprotectiveness flow through him.

“Do you love my brother?” he blurts out without thinking and immediately regrets it. Of all the things he could say.

But rather than look angry, Arthur’s impassive expression turns into something desperate and…frightened. He suddenly looks less like a terrifying punk and more like a lost child.

“I…” Arthur starts to say, then he swallows and looks away as his cheeks start to turn red. “He’s…Your brother is important to me.”

Matt blinks at this admission, but he finds he has no reason to doubt Arthur’s words. So perhaps he’s not as all-consumingly in love like Alfred is, but he at least cares about him. Isn’t that enough?

“He’s kind of an idiot sometimes, but he’s still my brother. If he gets hurt, I might have to do something desperate,” Matt says in a sudden burst of confidence. Arthur raises one of his eyebrows in curiosity, as if surprised that Matt would actually threaten him, then sticks his cigarette back in his mouth.

Alfred chooses that moment to run up to them and proceed with some apologies about running late and an invitation for a pizza dinner, which both he and Arthur agree to. This time when Alfred tries to strike up a conversation, Matt joins in for his benefit. He talks about school and how everyone thinks he’s Alfred, and how he thinks he might be captain of the hockey team next year. Although he continues to remain mostly silent, Arthur listens intently and his impassive look doesn’t seem quite as intimidating as before.

* * *

Saturday is spent playing video games and roughhousing outside, although Arthur mostly sits to the side and watches them. When Alfred gets caught up in a game of tag with a bunch of kids who live in the apartment building, Matt joins Arthur in merely sitting and watching. Alfred tumbles to the ground and is descended upon by a gaggle of laughing children.

“Your brother is ridiculous,” Arthur says. Matt stares at him in surprise, which is increased tenfold when he sees the look in Arthur’s eyes. He’s not looking at Matt, but at Alfred. Only at Alfred. With such fondness that Matt has to smile.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he replies and Arthur turns to him. Matt smiles hesitantly and the corner of Arthur’s mouth quirks up slightly. Then they both turn back to where Alfred is standing up and chasing after the now squealing children.

On Saturday night, Matt wants to ask Alfred a question, but he pauses when he sees that Arthur is sitting on the couch reading, and Alfred is sitting next to him. Alfred fidgets for a moment, then he leans over and wraps his arms around Arthur and rests his head on his shoulder. Arthur stiffens and looks down at Alfred, but then he shifts so he has his arm around Alfred, too. Alfred looks blissfully happy, and even though his expression doesn’t change, Arthur is clearly relaxed.

Matt shrinks back into the hallway and smiles as he returns to his temporary room. He doesn’t need to ask Alfred anything now.

* * *

After another butter breakfast courtesy of Alfred, Matt packs up his sparse luggage and meets Alfred at the door. Arthur is there waiting, as well.

“It was nice to meet you,” Matt says to Arthur, who nods.

“Likewise,” he says.

“Well, we’re off then!” Alfred says and opens the door. He turns to grin back at Arthur. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone!”

Both Arthur and Matt roll their eyes, but Alfred doesn’t take any notice either way. With one last nod, Matt leaves the apartment and follows Alfred back to his car. They don’t have to wait in the bus station for very long before the bus pulls up and people start queuing up to get on. Alfred stands and gives him one last one-armed hug.

“It was good to see you, little bro. I guess if Mom and Dad will let me, I’ll see you at Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah, see you later, Al,” Matt says as he joins the line. Once again he’s pushed around as he tries to find a seat and is disappointed when Lili doesn’t show up again. He glances out the window as the bus pulls away to see Alfred standing and waving like a maniac. He manages a small wave in response, then sinks into the seat. He hopes that this time the bus ride will be a long one. He’s not looking forward to the barrage of questions he’ll inevitably have to answer when he gets home. He has no reason to speak ill of Alfred, not this time, and his relationship with Arthur still seems strange, but he knows that it’s real, at least.

He looks back out the window to see Alfred’s waving form rapidly decreasing in size, and he hopes that their parents will find it in their hearts to accept what Alfred has decided he wants.


	3. Take Your Time, Hurry Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year and a half after becoming a couple, Arthur and Alfred are living together, but that doesn't mean they've found a happy ending.

The first time Arthur opens his eyes it’s to darkness. At first he doesn’t want to move, he’s too comfortable wrapped up in the warm cocoon that is Alfred, but with some effort he’s able to lift his head up to peek over Alfred’s shoulder at the clock.

Five in the morning. He groans and flops back onto the bed. Too early to be awake, too late to go back to bed. Alfred is still deep in sleep, even despite Arthur’s squirming, and Arthur envies him.

While he’s awake, and while Alfred is asleep, for that matter, he thinks he’ll go out on the balcony and have a smoke. When he tries to extract himself from the arms around him, however, Alfred mumbles sleepy protests and pulls him closer. Not so deep in sleep as he’d thought, it seems.

“I was going to come right back, you dolt,” he mumbles, but his only reply is Alfred’s quiet snoring. Arthur sighs, but admits defeat and settles himself back down. He reaches out to touch Alfred’s face in contemplation of the person lying beside him, and then Alfred twitches and scrunches up his nose slightly, just before he moves forward to snuggle his face against Arthur’s. Arthur sucks in a breath at the sudden loss in proximity, but doesn’t push him away. Alfred loves to cuddle, he’s learned, and although Arthur still has his own inhibitions about such physical contact, it’s such a small thing to ask that Arthur can’t refuse him. Not when Alfred does so much for him in return.

Although he really shouldn’t, Arthur lets himself get lost in the warmth and comfort that is Alfred and drifts off to sleep again.

When he next wakes, the sun is pouring in through their window and the spot beside him is empty. Alfred’s whereabouts are not a mystery for very long, because he walks back into their room whistling and wearing nothing more than a towel. His eyes light up when he spots Arthur staring at him.

“Good morning!” he says brightly and sits on the bed next to Arthur, looking both hesitant and expectant. Alfred wants to kiss him, Arthur knows, and although it would be so very easy to tilt his head towards Alfred to give him what he wants, instead Arthur just grunts and climbs out of bed. Of course he likes kissing Alfred, even if the younger boy still isn’t very good at it yet, but there are much stronger implications behind such a gesture when it’s done so casually now. It’s those implications that still scare him.

Alfred’s cheerful demeanor doesn’t diminish in the slightest despite his rebuffed attempts for a kiss and he starts rummaging for clean clothes to wear.

“I’m gonna make some breakfast if you want to take a shower. Any requests?”

“Toast,” Arthur says simply in reply, although he knows such a request will be more than filled. Alfred always makes too much for breakfast, stating that it’s the most important meal of the day or some such nonsense. It’s always stacks of syrup drenched waffles, bacon, eggs and sausage all covered in grease, too buttered toast and large glasses of orange juice. Arthur needs more meat on his bones, Alfred says, even after Arthur takes a single piece of toast and ignores the rest of the heaping plates before him. The boy is still persistent, perhaps even more so now that they’re living together.

When he’s done with his shower and getting dressed, he goes into their small kitchen to find that Alfred’s just finishing with his usual breakfast banquet. He sits at the table and Alfred places a plate in front of him, a piece of toast with bits of scrambled eggs arranged in a smiling face on top of the piece of bread. Both are glistening so brightly that it’s a certainty that both items are swimming in butter. He looks at Alfred, who beams at him.

“Bon appetit!” he says cheerfully and starts on his own mountain of food. Arthur may die young from how much he smokes, but Alfred’s diet will be his undoing. Arthur wrinkles his nose in disgust and picks at the eggs smiling just as cheerfully as the person who made them. The tight feeling in his chest has nothing to do with all the butter clogging his arteries after months of eating Alfred’s cooking, but he doesn’t want to admit, even to himself, what it really means. He shovels the eggs in his mouth lest he think on it any further.

Across the table, Alfred is chewing on his lip and averting his eyes in that way he does when he’s about to say or do something that’s potentially upsetting. Arthur tries to look indifferent, though he’s now afraid that his smiling eggs were a lead in to something else. He hopes that Alfred’s gestures are misleading, and Arthur is afraid for nothing.

It wouldn’t be the first time that his potentially upsetting gestures were misleading. 

After confessing to Alfred that he wanted them to be together, they’d settled into a different, awkward sort of routine. Arthur cut the sex out of their relationship entirely, as if to prove to himself that he didn’t just love Alfred because he liked fucking him, and also because he didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught. Although they also stopped spending so much time together, as well (Alfred was too busy with college preparation and Arthur had gotten a job assisting with deliveries at a grocery store), Arthur found that he enjoyed Alfred’s no company no less than he had when their relationship was based solely on sex, when Arthur had been in denial of his feelings. But there was still a barrier between them, despite all that happened.

It had been a Friday afternoon during the spring of Alfred’s senior year and they’d met up at the park, as had become their custom since Arthur couldn’t meet him at school anymore. They’d sat in an unusual silence while Alfred did that lip biting, eye averting thing of his, while Arthur smoked and tried to not make it obvious that he was watching Alfred. Finally Alfred spoke up.

“I’ve been accepted to a university that’s out of state…and I’m going to go,” he’d said hesitantly and finally looked at Arthur out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you?” Arthur had replied, trying to appear impassive despite how torn up he felt inside. Alfred going away meant that he’d only get to see him on his breaks, because there would be no way to afford visiting Alfred unless he obtained the money through underhanded means and then Alfred might be suspicious. As tenuous as their relationship was, Arthur didn’t think he’d make it that long without _any_ contact from him.

“I want you to come with me,” Alfred blurted out, interrupting Arthur’s troubled train of thought. Arthur whipped his head around to stare openly at Alfred, who smiled shyly in return and fidgeted. “I mean, only if you want to. I went looking for apartments when I went to check out the university and there’s one right near campus that would work really well for us. That’s only if you want to come with me, of course!”

Arthur had stared at Alfred in shock, parsing his words, and finally he swallowed and leaned over to kiss Alfred, because his own words were failing him once again. He’d felt Alfred smile against his lips, pleased with the nonverbal agreement to his plans.

As Alfred neared his graduation, Arthur saw very little of him and what little time they did spend together was mostly just planning for their departure towards the end of the summer. When the day finally came, Arthur had packed up what few possessions he wanted into a plastic bag and had left his family without a word. They wouldn’t notice he was gone anyway. Then he’d helped Alfred pack up his beat up used car he’d bought with the money he’d saved up after working in the fast food restaurant for a few summers and the trailer he’d rented and they’d been on their way.

“Mom and Dad know about you now,” Alfred had said when they were on the road. “I…don’t think I’ll ever be introducing you to them, though. They were pretty convinced I’d marry some girl and give them a bunch of grandchildren. But hey, at least they didn’t disown me, right? My little brother Mattie’s a little more laidback about his big brother having a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend, so I’m sure he’ll come visit us sometime.”

Arthur hadn’t pressed the issue, although it was no doubt more complicated than Alfred made it out to be. That Alfred was still leaving with him was the important thing, that they were on their way to a place where no one knew them as Alfred the golden boy and Arthur the delinquent, so maybe he wouldn’t be so fiercely glared at when they went somewhere together.

Next came the music, some dreadful pop rubbish that Arthur put up with for several hours before finally he demanded that Alfred turn it off or he’d fling himself out of the car and onto the highway. Alfred had called him on his bluff and Arthur had actually opened the car door, much to Alfred’s horror.

Then the trip continued without much incident, although Alfred insisted on stopping at every state line to take a picture and wasted money at every tourist trap they came across. Arthur grumbled each time, although he knew he’d come to treasure the pictures in time. 

After what felt like an eternity, but was really just almost a day, they finally reached their destination and Alfred had clambered out of the car so he could gesture excitedly towards the high rise tower that housed their new flat.

“Here we are! Home sweet home!” he’d chirped and immediately set to work pulling boxes out of the car. Arthur had helped, but once every box was inside the flat, Arthur only let Alfred get as far as setting up the mattress in the master bedroom before he insisted that they do no more that night and jumped him.

After a year and a half of celibacy, voluntary though it may have been, he found that he couldn’t control his desire to be with Alfred anymore. Not now that they were alone together, in a place of their own. He’d been relieved to find that even after all that time, Alfred had no less of an effect on him. Even more of a relief was how enthusiastically Alfred had returned the sentiment. Where he’d always just laid back and let Arthur do what he wanted before, now he returned each kiss and touch with equal fervor. Then afterwards Alfred had pulled Arthur close and murmured words of love as they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

It wasn’t until the next morning that everything finally hit Arthur. They lived together now. They wouldn’t part company at the end of the day. They wouldn’t go for days without seeing each other. They wouldn’t really be able to hide things from each other.

Arthur’s musings of the past are interrupted by Alfred’s sudden movement. He looks over at the younger boy, who smiles hesitantly and then stands up. Arthur stiffens, anticipating the worst, but instead he finds warm lips on his own. Alfred taking the kiss he’d been denied earlier. Alfred always kisses him so tenderly that it makes his heart ache, and Arthur has to pull away and avert his face after a short time.

Alfred doesn’t seem to mind, because he bends over and kisses the top of Arthur’s head as he says quietly, “I picked up an extra shift at work, so I won’t be coming home after class. I’ll probably be working pretty late, so don’t wait up, all right?”

Arthur nods, although they both know what will really happen. The fact that they have two bedrooms is merely a formality. It was supposed to be that Arthur would have a room of his own if he needed to be alone, but the need has never risen. He sleeps with Alfred every night, and they both know they can’t really sleep unless the other is next to them, although they’ll never say as much out loud. He’ll be awake until Alfred gets home, without a doubt.

Alfred ruffles Arthur’s hair and then grabs his backpack as he heads out the door, waving goodbye as he leaves.

“Take care,” Arthur says quietly to the closed door, then he sighs.

He wonders how it’s possible to be so close to someone and yet have a seemingly impassable distance between you at the same time. But that’s how it is with Alfred. He loves him, and he’s never given any doubt that Alfred loves him in return, but he’s still waiting for the day when that will all end. He’s waiting for the day when Alfred’s eyes will stop lighting up at the sight of him, when he’ll stop holding him so close at night, when he’ll be the one shying away from kisses, when that love he feels will die. Because Alfred is a good person, their relationship will end quietly, although no less painfully.

That’s the barrier between them. Arthur’s doubts, and his hesitance to give in to his desire to just be with Alfred and let him in to all of Arthur’s horrible secrets. A good person like Alfred won’t push him away because he was (and still is, in a way) a horrible person who did horrible things and never felt any remorse for any of his transgressions.

He works full time so Alfred isn’t the only one supporting them, while still going to school full time, as well. But old habits die hard, and he still gets into fights too easily. He’d been arrested one night and spent the night in jail after a particularly nasty fight. The next morning he’d returned home to find Alfred a wreck, clearly having spent the entire night awake and wondering where he’d been.

“Where were you?! I was really worried!” he’d gasped as he swept Arthur into a worried hug and then held him at arm’s length.

Arthur had shrugged and acted casual, like it had been nothing. Luckily the bruises he’d received during the fight were all easily concealed by his clothing. “It was nothing. Just stayed out a little too late with a few blokes I work with.”

“Call next time, all right?” Alfred had asked anxiously, pleadingly. 

Arthur nodded, but of course he hadn’t used his phone call to let Alfred know he’d been arrested. There are some things Alfred still doesn’t need to know. Especially that the person he loves can’t control his temper at times.

He doesn’t drink anymore, mostly because he’d always obtained his alcohol by stealing it, and he’s trying to put all that dishonesty behind him. He can’t be with Alfred if he’s going to continue his deviant lifestyle. Alfred wants to be some sort of scientist who comes up with miracle cures for the world’s worst ailments, to save the world and be a hero, and he can’t have a lover who is the scum of society.

He still smokes, however, even though Alfred had pulled the cigarette out of his mouth one day and leaned over to kiss him instead.

“I like kissing you more when you don’t smoke,” he’d said, and that was enough for Arthur. He doesn’t smoke inside their flat, at least, and he doesn’t smoke when he knows he’ll be kissing Alfred, but smoking is one of his vices he can’t let go of.

He knows that Alfred hides a little from him, as well. He doesn’t get to meet very many of Alfred’s friends, and he supposes that’s because he still has those ugly feelings of jealousy when he thinks of Alfred enjoying the company of someone who isn’t him, even if he’s the one Alfred comes home to everyday. He can’t help feeling jealous of those Alfred is close to, and he wonders if they know things about Alfred that he doesn’t.

He’d also come home early from work one day to find Alfred playing one of those video games of his and shouting obscenities into a headset.

“Bastards! You fucking suck! You call that playing? My grandmother is better than your pansy asses!”

He’d cleared his throat and Alfred had snatched the headset off his head in a panic and quickly turned off the game.

“Arthur! I didn’t know you’d be home so soon! I haven’t gotten dinner ready yet so I’ll do that right now!”

Then he’d shuffled off to hide himself in the kitchen until he’d given Arthur a haphazardly prepared meal that almost made his own food look appetizing, which was really saying something. Alfred had gone to bed early that night, as well, and slept with his back to Arthur.

Does Alfred think Arthur will love him any less if he’s not always cheerful? No one can be perfect, and Arthur doesn’t expect Alfred to be.

But that’s just the way they are now. Dancing around each other, afraid to meet in the middle. Afraid of what that will mean.

Sometimes Arthur wonders if he too will one day stop loving Alfred. If their relationship will end in raised voices and horrible, hateful words spewed with vitriol. Because Arthur gets violent when he’s angry, he’d almost certainly hurt Alfred physically, as well. All the more reason to be afraid of getting too close. He’ll just hurt Alfred, no matter how much the boy insists that he’s tough and can handle it.

The only time they seem to lose their inhibitions is in the throes of passion, and in those quiet moments after when they’re just in each other’s arms. But that’s not how it should be. Once upon a time their relationship had been based solely on sex, and that’s not what he wants now.

But he’s afraid of what he really wants.

He’d been rather shocked to learn that Alfred had chosen to attend a school in one of the few states where gay marriage is legalized, and he wonders if Alfred is really thinking that far ahead. Or perhaps it’s merely a coincidence and Arthur is the one getting his hopes up. As if they’ll actually be able to reach that point!

After another day of menial work he thinks he’s too good for, but is unable to pursue anything else because he never actually finished high school, he trudges back into the place he now calls home. It’s empty, of course, since Alfred will be returning late.

He makes his way to the kitchen where there’s most certainly going to be leftovers he can eat, but he wants a meal that isn’t going to give him a heart attack one day for once. As usual, his attempt at cooking goes up in a glorious blaze and he cringes at the marks left on the stove. He won’t waste food, however, so he eats it instead of throwing it out like most other people would do.

He sits at the table staring off into space and wondering about himself and Alfred until the door opens and said boy appears. He spots Arthur and smiles.

“You’re still awake, after all? I figured. Well, I’ll wash the dishes and then we’ll go to bed!”

Arthur nods and quietly excuses himself from the kitchen, only to hear Alfred sighing as he leaves.

“Aww man! You didn’t try to cook again, did you? I only just got that stove working again!”

“Fuck you,” Arthur replies and Alfred looks over his shoulder to stick out his tongue. He’s gotten cheekier since they’ve been together, which is really for the best. Arthur controlled Alfred too much before, and they’ll never break down any barriers if there’s not more equality in their relationship.

He pauses in the doorway watching Alfred as he rolls up his sleeves and starts washing their dishes manually, since they decided there’s no need to spend money on an automatic dishwasher. Alfred starts whistling a tune and Arthur continues to watch him. 

What can he say about this person? A person who loves him even knowing he’s not the high society type Alfred should really be associating with. A person who he wakes up next to every morning, and sleeps with every night. A person who makes his meals and mocks his cooking when he tries to do the same. A person he comes home to and who comes home to him. There really is only one thing to say about such a person.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s so easy.

Alfred stiffens and Arthur swears he hears one of the dishes he’d been washing shatter, but it doesn’t matter. Alfred turns to give him a helpless look, then he’s descended upon with a flurry of kisses and ‘I love you’s breathed out between deliriously happy laughter. The first breakdown of barriers between them, the first step to ridding themselves of the awkwardness that plagues them now. Arthur is finally able to laugh along with Alfred, and it feels so good.

But then the dream is over and he’s still standing in the doorway to their kitchen watching Alfred’s back as he whistles a tune and washes the dishes. His tongue pastes itself to the roof of his mouth, leaving him unable still to tell Alfred that he loves him. He clamps his mouth shut lest Alfred see him gaping like a fish.

It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Three little words that could change things for the better. But fear isn’t so easy to overcome.

He can’t say it, not now and maybe not for a very long time, but at least when Alfred is finished and turns to smile at him, he manages a small smile in return.


	4. Sour Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur happens to see his mother one day while at work, who has another son that she actually takes care of. The stress is overwhelming for Arthur, and he unfortunately takes it out on Alfred, making their already strained relationship even more so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is a non-explicit sex scene in this chapter. Although the sex is consensual, the whole situation is rather...problematic. Just to warn you.

Arthur has a sickly sense of foreboding as he walks into work that morning, and it’s not just because Heracles is predictably asleep behind a stack of milk crates. His morning started off normally enough; Alfred made him the same butter soaked breakfast and kissed him goodbye as usual, but something still seems off.

He briefly contemplates waking up Heracles, but decides it’s not worth it. Eventually the stray cats will show up at the loading dock and he’ll be awake to sneak them some food. Until then, he’s on his own. He’s been assigned the duty of restocking the freezers, which is one of the last things he wants to do when the store is open and he’ll be at risk of dealing with customers.

But his job is still a source of income, after all, so he pushes his mysterious anxiety to the back of his mind and sets to work. The sooner he loses himself in the same menial work he does everyday, the sooner he can go home.

Predictably he’s interrupted by several customers, who want answers to ridiculous questions like where the bathroom is or what time it is, and there’s an old woman who wants help reaching something on the opposite end of the store, but for the most part his day is nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to explain why he felt like something was wrong.

It’s as he’s finishing with the last section that a child’s obnoxious laughter breaks his concentration, then some spoiled little brat reaches past him to grab a box of ice cream bars from the bottom of the display, sending the rest tumbling to the floor. Arthur is about to chastise the child for being so careless, but the words die in his throat when he gets a good look at him.

It’s like he’s staring into the face of his younger self, only this boy’s face is clean and full of happiness, rather than dirty and full of contempt. Upon closer examination, his hair is darker, and the features slightly different, but there’s really no mistaking those eyebrows. The boy runs off before Arthur can say anything. He doesn’t have to, though, because he gets his answer as soon as the boy runs up to the person he came with. Arthur feels the blood draining from his face and the wind getting knocked out of him as he sees that person.

Even though it’s been about fifteen years, he’s never forgotten that face. He hates that face, curses it with his everything whenever he thinks about it. Detestable woman who abandoned him and his brothers, who should have been dead or dying, but is instead dressed nicely and looking well taken care of. His mother.

“I’m going to get this, okay?” the boy says to her and shoves it into her basket without waiting for a reply.

“Of course, my darling,” she says fondly and smiles warmly down at the boy. He can’t be more than ten-years-old, which means when Arthur had finally accepted that his life was going to be miserable forever and never get any better, she was having another child. Another child, when she already had four boys she’d abandoned.

Arthur’s eyes sting, but he tries to blink away the sensation. No, that woman isn’t worth it. Despite his efforts, though, his vision begins to blur and he disappears from the aisle before his mother can notice him. She’s not supposed to be able to hurt him anymore, but his chest is tight and there’s tears spilling down his cheeks. He finds Heracles still asleep behind the milk crates, and he kicks him awake.

“Get up, you bastard,” he snaps and keeps his face as hidden from view as possible as Heracles stirs and stands up. “There’s a mess near the freezers, you have to clean it up.”

Heracles mumbles something under his breath as he stretches out his stiff muscles and presumably follows through with Arthur’s demand. Arthur meanwhile slumps to the ground in the place previously occupied by his coworker. He tears at his hair, as if that will somehow stop his now uncontrollable sobbing. His tears are wasted on her, but he can’t help it.

Even more than before he hates her. How could she up and find herself a better life without taking her children with her? How could she just shirk her responsibilities as a mother to her first children and just have another like it was nothing? How would she feel knowing that the son she abandoned was abused at worst, neglected at best? That he grew up hating everyone and everything, closed off his heart because she’d hurt it too badly for him to trust anyone with it, and that he’s only just now learning what it means to actually care about someone and be cared about in return thanks to Alfred?

Alfred. Just thinking about him makes Arthur calm somewhat and he manages to pull himself together enough to only occasionally hiccup. His mother doesn’t deserve to know Alfred. Even if they’re in the same city, even if there’s a chance of the two of them crossing paths, Arthur hopes that she never meets Alfred. She doesn’t deserve that sunshine in her life.

Not that he deserves it either.

He finally stops his hiccups and haphazardly fixes his appearance, though he manages to spend the rest of the day in the back stocking the refrigerators, because with his frayed nerves he can’t handle much more than that.

He’s been sober since he and Alfred agreed to be together, but now he needs a drink. He needs to forget the world and his mother and his half brother he never knew about and everything about it that continues to be so fucked up despite his efforts to change. He’s too young to buy any alcohol legally, but his box cutter makes for a good weapon to use against a man who is too drunk to notice that he’s being threatened with a dull blade. The whiskey burns his throat as it goes down, but it’s like a comforting burn that he’s missed. There’s not enough left in the bottle to get him drunk, but he has a buzz and has no idea how late it is by the time he thinks of Alfred.

He needs Alfred. _Needs_ him. Like air. Alcohol to forget is a poor substitute for that boy who loves him and wants him and wouldn’t abandon him without a word just because he didn’t like his circumstances. He manages to stumble home, still not taking any notice of how late it is by the time he pushes through their door.

Alfred is in the kitchen and comes bounding out at the sound of the door, his eyes lighting up when he sees Arthur standing there. He’s sure he looks a wreck, but if Alfred notices, he doesn’t comment.

“Arthur! It’s getting late, so I was starting to get worried. Oh, your food is in the microwave, so you just have to reheat it.”

The last thing Arthur wants right now is food, but he doesn’t say as much. What he wants is to just bend Alfred over the kitchen table or maybe the counter and just fuck him there, but no, he needs a condom at least. He grabs onto the strings of Alfred’s hooded sweatshirt and pulls him into a kiss, which Alfred pulls away from after a moment and gives Arthur a confused look.

“Arthur, what-”

He doesn’t want to talk, so he pulls Alfred back into a kiss and starts walking towards their bedroom, dragging Alfred along the way. Alfred can probably taste the alcohol on his breath, or maybe he sees the tear stains on his cheeks that he hadn’t bothered to clean up. Whatever it is, he doesn’t fight him off as he’s dragged into their bedroom, then momentarily abandoned so Arthur can grab the lube and a condom.

Alfred pulls off his glasses and rests them on the nightstand when he sees what Arthur has in his hands. He smiles slightly and starts to lean back against the bed, but then Arthur grabs him roughly and turns him around to bend him over. Alfred yelps, but Arthur doesn’t want his face to be seen. Not tonight.

He forgets all about finesse and consideration of Alfred as he only haphazardly prepares him and slips on the condom before he pushes roughly into him. Alfred makes a pained noise and claws at the duvet. The fact that he’s hurting Alfred doesn’t occur to Arthur as he immediately takes up a rushed rhythm. At least, he doesn’t notice until he realizes what this is like.

He can’t see Alfred’s face, not when he has it buried in the mattress, but Arthur knows that his eyes are squeezed shut and his eyebrows are furrowed. He can see that his knuckles are white, and he’s making those same squeaking sounds from the very first time they ever had sex.

He’s letting his frustration cloud his judgment, and he’s hurting Alfred. He wanted Alfred’s comfort and love to remind him that there’s still good things in the world even though people like his mother can start their lives over as if it’s nothing, but instead he’s hurting him. It’s too late to rectify things, though, because he’s shuddering his release almost immediately after.

Arthur pulls himself away from Alfred’s back and disposes of the condom, then pulls off what’s left of his clothes and crawls into bed. Not long after Alfred follows and reaches for him, ready to cuddle him regardless of what just happened, but Arthur shrinks away and rolls over away from Alfred. He’s disgusted with himself, and his behavior shouldn’t be rewarded with Alfred’s gentle actions and words of love. There’s silence for a few moments, then he hears Alfred shifting underneath the sheets, as well.

It seems that even now his mother is ruining his life, poisoning his mind so he’ll destroy the only good thing in his life. He never thought he could hate her more than he did before, but after that day, he’s changed his mind completely.

* * *

Alfred acts the same as always the next morning, which only feeds Arthur’s guilt over what he did the night before. Rather than be the one to bring it up, however, Arthur too pretends that nothing is out of the ordinary. He picks at his breakfast and accepts Alfred’s goodbye kiss without complaint as Alfred leaves for school.

The moment Alfred is out the door, Arthur buries his face in his hands. Alfred’s parents were right and he’s ruining Alfred’s life, after all. He could be with someone else right now. Someone who will give him the love and respect he deserves, who will actually _say_ ‘I love you’ and not leave it ambiguous.

At the same time, he wants to be with Alfred. He doesn’t want to leave him and return to his previous empty existence. He’s selfish and wants Alfred to be with him to make life worth living. Even at the expense of Alfred’s happiness, it seems.

Heracles is feeding the stray cats when he arrives at work, and he almost asks him about it. What is it with him and those cats? But that would be opening up the floor for friendly interaction between the two of them, which is something he doesn’t want. It’s hard enough opening up to Alfred without throwing someone else into the mix.

The day is spent in anxiety that he’ll see his mother again, and it’s the anxiety that makes the day drag on longer than it should have, then it’s replaced by the anxiety of having to go home and face Alfred.

He paces while he waits for his bus home, thinking of how he can approach things without making everything fall apart, but his thoughts are interrupted as a group of men he doesn’t recognize approaches.

“You’re that guy with Jones, right?” one of them asks, prompting Arthur to stop pacing and stare.

“Excuse me?” he asks and narrows his eyes. The man who spoke smirks while the others chuckle. 

“You. You’re with Jones, aren’t you? I saw you at that carwash the other day. Jones acts like you’re just friends, but you two were being so fucking obvious chasing each other around like that.”

The way they’re smirking makes Arthur’s blood boil as he realizes what they’re talking about. He can’t take this right now. He’s going to snap if it continues, try as he might to control his temper.

“So which one of you takes it up the ass? Bet it’s Jones, right? That guy is such a fucking fairy, it’s-”

That’s enough to make Arthur lose control completely. He launches himself at the offending man with intentions of beating the smirk off his face and making it so he’ll never be able to make any facial expressions ever again. Vaguely he hears one of the others mentioning the police, and someone else tries to pull him off, but he doesn’t relent. He’s going to kill that bastard and deal with the consequences later.

Finally he’s hauled roughly off by someone much stronger than him, and though he struggles, he can’t fight him off. It’s a police officer, he finally realizes, and he stops struggling. The man he’d been attacking has a bloodied face, but he otherwise seems no worse for the wear. Pity.

He’s going to have to spend another night in jail, which makes his anxiety levels shoot up further. Alfred will be at home waiting for him, but he’ll never show up.

* * *

Arthur puts off going home the next day and goes straight to work instead. He’s only exacerbating the problem, he knows, but he doesn’t know how he’s going to face Alfred after all that has happened. He promised Alfred that next time he’d be gone for an extended period of time that he’d call, but once again he didn’t. Alfred doesn’t need to know that he’d been arrested.

Eventually he _has_ to go home, though, and it’s only after several minutes of hesitation that he finally pushes their door open. Alfred appears instantly, looking terrible like he hasn’t eaten or slept, and descends on him, looking distraught, relived, and infuriated all at once.

“Where the fuck were you, Arthur?!” he cries, and Arthur cringes internally. This is an opportunity to talk about things, so they move forward instead of back, but once again Arthur can’t do it.

“It’s not important,” he says irritably, batting Alfred out of the way as he walks further into their flat.

“What do you mean it’s not important?! Of course it is! I mean, you keep disappearing without a word and I don’t know where you are and if you might be hurt or worse…”

“I said it’s not important, Alfred. Just drop it,” he snaps over his shoulder and tries to head for their bedroom, but Alfred runs in front of him and blocks the way.

“You can’t keep pulling this shit, Arthur! You were supposed to call. Say something, _anything_ , not just leave me here wondering where you are.”

Arthur squares his jaw and stares stubbornly at Alfred for a moment, then he looks away. They stand in silence, but Arthur swears he hears the delicate threads holding them together buckling under the weight of everything that has happened in the space of just a few days.

“Is there someone else?” Alfred finally says. Arthur freezes and whips his head to gape incredulously at Alfred, who is looking away and clenching his fists. “I mean, I’m pretty boring right? I’m no good at kissing or sex, and I know those things are important to you. Maybe you found someone who can satisfy you better than I can.”

Alfred thinks he wants someone else? Nothing could be further from the truth. It _is_ true that Alfred still isn’t technically very good at sex yet, but that’s irrelevant. He’ll get better with time. It’s not about the technique, but the emotions behind the actions, and those always come through loud and clear and satisfy Arthur far more than the best damn lay in the world ever could. Fucking someone else will never even hope to begin to hold a candle to how he feels when he and Alfred make love.

Besides that, of course he’s not with Alfred just for sex. That’s not even what their relationship started off as, no matter what it was for months. Had Gilbert never said anything, Arthur wouldn’t have even thought of having sex with Alfred (then, perhaps, would he have ever realized he was in love otherwise?). 

He should put Alfred’s fears to rest and apologize for worrying him, but rather than remorse, it’s anger that wins out over all other emotions. That Alfred thinks so little of him to believe he’s cheating doesn’t sit well with him. He’s trying, he really is.

“Don’t take your paranoia out on me, Jones,” Arthur snaps, and he immediately regrets it. Alfred looks stricken, and Arthur knows why. It’s not just the vitriol in his words, but the way he chose to address Alfred.

No, Alfred hasn’t been “Jones” since that day in the alley years ago. He may as well have cut Alfred’s heart right out of his chest.

Alfred continues to look dismayed, but then his expression fades into anger and his nostrils flare. They _should_ fight. Alfred should continue to insist that he not give in to whatever Arthur wants. Maybe they’ll change that way, if they don’t fall apart completely. 

Instead, Alfred turns and stomps down the hall into their bedroom, where he slams the door shut. Arthur winces at the sound, but his anger doesn’t fade. Alfred is being childish, as always. If he wants to sulk, he can sulk. They really aren’t meant to be together anyway. He scoffs at the empty hallway and stalks into the kitchen.

Arthur makes himself dinner, taking care not to ruin the microwave as he heats up a can of condensed soup, then he sees himself to the spare bedroom. He’s never slept in there, so everything is neat and tidy. Too neat and tidy. He crawls between the sheets and tries to will himself to sleep without Alfred.

Even though he’s never been in one before this, he knows that this is _not_ how relationships are supposed to work. They grow and change, just as the people in them grow and change, but he and Alfred are going nowhere. They’re too afraid of each other to meet in the middle, where they can change their relationship into something much more than what it is. If Arthur trusts himself to Alfred, he’s leaving himself wide open to getting hurt again. But if he never does, then they’ll just continue the way they are now until they finally stop being together. All roads seem to lead to the fact that one day Alfred is going to stop loving him, just as he suspected in the beginning.

He groans and rolls over to glare up at the ceiling. It’s no use. He really can’t sleep without Alfred next to him. He’s too accustomed to his warmth, his weight, the steady sound of his breathing. Even if Alfred doesn’t hold him, just his presence is enough.

After a moment’s hesitation, Arthur eases out of bed and pads quietly into the hallway. He stares at the door to their bedroom, which is still shut. They’re fighting, so they shouldn’t sleep together, but if Alfred didn’t sleep the night before, he’ll likely not get any sleep tonight either. Alfred won’t sleep unless he’s next to him, too, Arthur knows.

When he tries the doorknob, Arthur realizes that Alfred didn’t lock the door, which just serves to make his heart ache. The door is always open, he’s just afraid to open it, in more ways than one. He does finally turn the knob and push the door inwards to see the outline of Alfred’s back facing away from him on the bed. Tentatively Arthur enters and makes his way over to the bed, where he climbs under the sheets next to Alfred. He can see Alfred stiffen, which only confirms that they indeed can’t sleep without each other.

He reaches out into the empty space separating him from Alfred, but his hand drops before he can touch his shoulder. The space between them is far more than just a couple inches of sheets and mattress. There’s a chasm there, growing steadily wider day by day. But how can he stop the inevitable from happening? He sighs and rolls over, so his back is to Alfred’s. It should be enough, just being near Alfred, for him to get some sleep.

He feels the weight shift on the bed and for a second he panics, wondering if Alfred is going to leave. His mind screams to say something, _anything_ , to stop him, but he doesn’t have to. Instead of Alfred’s retreating back heading towards the door as he fears, the mattress dips behind him, then an arm wraps around him and a face presses between his shoulder blades. Alfred both asking for and giving forgiveness. Arthur sucks in a breath.

What he wants to do is turn around and bury himself in Alfred and kiss him until they both can’t breathe. Reassure Alfred over and over that there’s no one else, there could never _be_ anyone else. That he’s sorry and he’s tired of hurting him.

But all he can do is grasp the arm that’s holding him and pull it closer around himself. It seems that it’s enough, though, because Alfred’s face moves from between his shoulder blades to rest against the junction between his neck and shoulder.

It will have to be enough for now, until they really can meet in the middle, then move forward together from there.


	5. First and Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is determined to close the distance between he and Arthur, even if his method is a bit unorthodox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be busy this weekend, so early update this week. :)

“ _When I fall in love, it will be forever, or I'll never fall in love…_ ”

The soft music playing over the pharmacy’s speaker system is somehow exactly what Alfred needs to hear, and for a moment he stops to listen.

First and last love. It was decided the moment he accepted that he was falling for a boy, and he’s never had any second thoughts about his feelings since then. He’s in love with Arthur, and he wants it to stay that way forever.

He scowls slightly as continues down the aisle to his originally intended destination and lets the song continue to play.

The only problem is that he didn’t know how very complicated being in love would be. The movies always made it out to be that you live happily ever after once you acknowledge that you’re in love and want to be with the person of your dreams. The moment Arthur said he wanted to be with him, he thought that was the beginning of their happy ending. Instead it became the beginning of a whole new set of challenges. He never would have guessed what would await them when he asked Arthur to come live with him.

Arthur is afraid, and Alfred doesn’t know how to quell his fears. He’s certain that he’ll say or do something stupid and push Arthur away for good, but when he _doesn’t_ try to do anything, that just seems to push him away, too. Their fight from the week before is proof of that. His doubts aren’t helping their already fragile relationship, but he can’t help it. He knows he’s terribly inexperienced at this, and he’s insecure as a result. Does he make Arthur happy? Does Arthur love him, too? Will they ever find their happy ending? With the way he’s terrible at kissing and sex, he couldn’t help but think that Arthur went and found himself a more experienced lover who would please him the way he wants. Thoughts of Arthur cheating on him are just destructive in the end, though.

It’s because of their fight that he’s at the pharmacy now. They’ve spent the week mostly avoiding each other, and interacting awkwardly the rest of the time, and it’s finally gotten to the point where Alfred can’t take it anymore. After a long talk with Kiku over texts, Alfred is certain what he wants to do.

“If there’s a distance between you, you’d be the one to close it, right?”

Kiku’s vote of confidence gave Alfred the last kick in the right direction he needed to go out and do something. His method is a bit unorthodox, he has to admit, but their relationship is that way in general. Somehow, that’s why it works.

He snaps out of his reverie and realizes he’s been standing in the same place for several minutes. Thinking that he’ll be the one to reach out to Arthur is all well and good, but thoughts aren’t action. Unfortunately the shelves of condoms and personal lubricants mock him. It sounded like a wonderful idea in his head, but now he’s completely embarrassed that he even thought of it. He chews on his lips and tries to just get over his fear of humiliation and just pick something, but in the end he just continues to stand in place staring for several minutes.

The first time he bought condoms he just grabbed the first box he saw and hoped for the best. Not this time, though. He wants this to be special. Still, if he lingers in that aisle much longer an employee will be sent after him to ask if he’s finding everything okay because they really suspect that he might be a shoplifter. 

Never mind the threat of an employee, an old woman appears in the aisle again for what Alfred swears is the tenth time in five minutes. If she’s trying to make him feel uncomfortable or guilty, she’s doing a good job of it, because Alfred is very close to snapping at her and yelling that yes, he’s hoping to have sex, and he has it often anyway, thank you very much.

But she shuffles away again shortly after and Alfred turns back to the shelves with burning cheeks.

There’s too many different varieties, and he’s not sure what the difference is between all of them. Then again, maybe it won’t matter which one he picks out so long as his feelings shine through.

“Alfred?” a voice calls from the end of the aisle and Alfred turns in a panic to see Elizaveta standing there. Of all people. He very quickly looks around the aisle for something else he can pretend to be looking for, but the only other things are feminine hygiene products and baby supplies. He supposes he can pretend he’s babysitting for someone and looking for something for their baby, but by the time he settles on this, Elizaveta is already at his side and noticing what products he’s looking at. If only a hole would open up that he could crawl into and hide in…

“Special night, Alfred?” she asks with a sparkle in her eye. Alfred’s cheeks erupt into flames and he looks away from her.

“I was just wandering through here, Liz. It’s really nothing-”

“For something with your cute boyfriend, right?” Alfred’s eyes widen and he looks at Elizaveta in horror. She’s not supposed to know that. He’s not ready to tell anyone here yet. She just smiles warmly and holds up her hands in surrender. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, Alfred.”

“…that’s right,” Alfred finally replies and Elizaveta beams.

“Well, in that case!” 

Before Alfred can blink, Elizaveta’s picking boxes off the shelf and explaining the merits of certain brands and varieties, and Alfred once again wishes he could crawl into a hole somewhere. He really doesn’t want to know why she knows all these things. Bad enough that he once walked in on one of her conversations that he realized was about her sex life, and all he heard in his horrified embarrassment was something about musician’s hands before he fled. He wonders what Roderich would think of all this.

In the end, Elizaveta picks out some condoms and lubricant for him, looking very pleased with herself all the while.

“Oh, and Alfred! Take this. I was going to use this with Roderich, but you need it more,” she says and slips something else into his hand. When he realizes what it is, his cheeks burn even more, but she nods sagely. “Trust me.”

“I think that’s enough, Lizzie,” he mumbles. She laughs into her hand and waves over her shoulder as she wanders off.

“Don’t get too wild now, Alfred!” she calls. The same old woman who’s been harassing him the whole time appears again and gives him a dirty look, which he pointedly ignores. He shoves Elizaveta’s item into his pocket and takes his purchases up to the checkout, where he tries his hardest to look anywhere but at the teenager manning the register. The teenage boy raises an eyebrow at him and smirks slightly, but doesn’t comment as they finish the transaction. The night air has never felt so refreshing as it does when Alfred steps outside and heads to his car. His flaming cheeks finally get the relief they need.

There’s some love song on the radio, and it’s enough to temporarily take his mind off the fact that what he’s doing is probably a really stupid idea, after all. Instead it just makes his anxieties and doubts about his relationship with Arthur resurface. His parents would probably be happy with these latest happenings, wouldn’t they? It’s what they want, after all. 

He’s only eighteen, what does he know about love, they said. One day he’ll wake up and realize how he’s throwing his life away on a boy (a _boy_ ) who won’t ever amount to anything. And has he even _looked_ at Arthur? He’ll be killed in his sleep before he’s ever loved.

He grips the steering wheel and grits his teeth. They may be his parents, but they don’t know what they’re talking about. Arthur’s not the horrible person they think he is. He’s rough around the edges, but that doesn’t mean that he’s going to ruin his life. If they think he’ll just leave Arthur because they want him to, they’ve got another thing coming. He dutifully followed their every whim and expectation his whole life, but now he’s going to do what he wants, and that’s to be with Arthur. He hopes that one day they’ll learn to accept that he’s not going to marry a girl, that he’s really in love with a boy, and yes, that boy is Arthur.

The overwhelming sense of what the hell is he doing returns when he pulls into the parking lot of their apartment building, but he can’t turn back now. Things can’t continue the way they’ve been going, or they really will fall apart. That’s the last thing he wants, so he can’t be afraid.

Arthur is on their couch reading quietly when Alfred walks in, and Alfred says a quick greeting before he disappears into their bedroom to deposit the pharmacy bag and pull off his jacket. He takes a deep breath and stares at the plastic bag for a moment before he squares his shoulders and wanders back to where Arthur is sitting.

Arthur looks up at him, then looks back at his book again. Brief as it is, Alfred sees that look in Arthur’s eyes that’s almost constantly there now that they live together. That mixture of fear and intense longing hidden behind a veil of indifference. It’s true, he’ll have to be the one to start closing that distance between them.

“Whatcha reading?” he asks as he tentatively takes a seat next to Arthur. Any other day they’d probably cuddle while Arthur reads, but not now. If Alfred’s plan doesn’t fail, that will change.

“Adult entertainment literature,” Arthur replies, which means he’s reading porn again. Meanwhile Alfred wants to make love to him, and he’ll probably pale in comparison to whatever Arthur’s reading.

“Oh,” Alfred says dumbly and twiddles his thumbs. If it were Arthur, he’d just kiss him roughly or say he wants him and that would be that. They’d stumble back to the bedroom and Arthur would ravage him like usual. It’s completely ridiculous that he’s so damn nervous about this, considering how often they have sex, but then again he’s never been the one to initiate it. He doesn’t know how Arthur will react. Besides that, they’ve barely even touched each other for the past week, and here he wants to dive straight into the most intimate contact possible.

“Do you want a massage?” he finally asks, and Arthur lowers his book to give Alfred a bewildered look. Alfred tries to will away the blush creeping its way onto his cheeks, but to no avail.

“Are you feeling all right, Alfred?”

“Of…of course! I just want to do something nice for my boyfriend, that’s all!”

Arthur looks suspicious, especially since Alfred’s voice comes out shriller than intended, but he turns his body so his back is to Alfred. Alfred smiles slightly and reaches out to start kneading Arthur’s shoulders. He’s tense, which isn’t a surprise given everything that’s happened, so Alfred works carefully to knead out the kinks and knots in Arthur’s shoulders and back. Eventually Arthur starts to go a little more lax, and it’s a relief for Alfred to see him that way. With Arthur a little more relaxed, Alfred decides that now is as good a time as ever.

After a few more moments, he bends forward and tentatively kisses Arthur’s neck. Arthur pauses in his reading to look back at him in surprise and confusion. Alfred swallows the lump in his throat and tries to convey without saying anything what he wants. Arthur folds the book closed and sets it aside before he turns around on the couch and reaches for Alfred. Alfred meets him halfway and kisses him with what he hopes is vigor and heated intent, but is just probably his usual clumsiness that Arthur puts up with. Regardless, Arthur shifts backwards so Alfred is nearly on top of him and can kiss him more thoroughly, which he does. He’s missed kissing Arthur, and he’s going to enjoy this as much as possible. 

This is all right, isn’t it? Just making out on the couch isn’t such a bad way to spend the evening. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s all they’ve done, and it wouldn’t be the last. A week is far too long a time to go without kissing Arthur like this, anyway, and he can always try to be the initiator of intimate contact another time.

But he’s already decided that that’s what he’s going to do, and he’s not about to back down. He finally breaks away from Arthur, who looks a little bereft at the loss of contact, and hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel as he decides to go for it.

“I want…” he starts to say, but trails off in embarrassment. Arthur just stares at him. Alfred swallows and hides his face against Arthur’s shoulder, hoping that if he doesn’t look at him, maybe he’ll be able to say it. After a moment, he finally stammers out hurriedly, “I want to make love to you!”

It sounds so completely ridiculous when he puts it like that and not for the first time that evening he wishes he could crawl into a hole somewhere and hide for awhile. Maybe forever. Better than facing humiliation at the hands of his experienced boyfriend.

Rather than shoving him aside and giving him an unimpressed look or maybe a sarcastic remark, however, Arthur’s breath hitches and he gently pushes Alfred back to look at him. His veil of indifference is completely gone so that Alfred can clearly see that deep and intense longing he usually tries to hide.

“All right,” he says quietly. For a moment Alfred just blinks at him, and Arthur’s cheeks begin to flush, but then he swallows again and nods.

“All right,” he agrees.

They both stand at the same time, then watch each other as they make their way to the bedroom. The second they’re in the door, however, they’re on each other, kissing like their life depends on it. Arthur walks backwards and pulls him along, until Arthur hits the bed and falls backwards onto it. They break apart, then begins the mad scramble to remove their clothes.

After pulling off his glasses and kicking off his shoes, Alfred makes quick work of his jeans and underwear, then he pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it to the side before he returns to kissing Arthur, who is equally naked. Even though he doesn’t place the same importance on sex that Arthur does, the feeling of Arthur’s bare flesh against his own is still a wonderfully welcome sensation. He breaks away from Arthur’s mouth and moves to his neck. Arthur’s fingers are digging into his hair, demanding more, always more, it’s never enough, so Alfred starts his usual slow worship of Arthur’s body.

Arthur is too skinny, something he’s been trying to fix with the large breakfasts he makes, and his body is marked with scars ranging from large, angry ones to small, subtle ones, but he thinks Arthur is beautiful, and he loves to look at him. He kisses his way to Arthur’s side, where one of his tattoos lies. He wants to ask about it, why anyone would want to hurt him like that, but he knows he can’t. Instead he wants to lavish extra attention and care on it, to prove to Arthur that he’ll never hurt him like that, but Arthur always stops him when he tries. Predictably he does again, putting his hand on his face and guiding him away from the tattoo and the scar beneath it, but this time Alfred lifts his head to smile at Arthur.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Arthur’s eyes widen, then his cheeks flush slightly as he scowls.

“Fool. Don’t say such ridiculous things.”

“No, I mean it.” He dips his head to kiss Arthur’s lips, then his chin and neck. “I’ll never get tired of looking at you.”

“…I thought you were going to make love to me,” Arthur says, and Alfred swears that he detects just the slightest waver in his voice. Arthur’s expression is unreadable when Alfred looks up at him, so Alfred just decides to write it off as impatience. He nods and sits up to retrieve the plastic bag he’d tossed in there earlier, then he remembers the item Elizaveta gave him. He hesitates, but turns to smile at Arthur.

“Mind if we try something a little different?” he asks.

Arthur furrows his brows and starts to sit up. “Like what?”

Alfred holds up his finger and climbs off the bed to grab his jacket. In the pocket is Elizaveta’s gift, which he retrieves and climbs back onto the bed to show Arthur.

“…a blindfold, Alfred?” Arthur asks as he takes the proffered item out of Alfred’s hand.

“Yeah…think of it like a test of trust?” That’s probably not what Elizaveta meant it for, but he doesn’t want to know what goes through her head sometimes, and that reason is good enough for him. Arthur’s eyes widen again, but he nods hesitantly and ties it around his head, covering his eyes.

Alfred waves his hand in front of Arthur’s face, testing it out, then grins until he realizes that Arthur is shaking. He reaches out to touch Arthur, who flinches and moves away from him. Alfred frowns, wondering what went wrong and tries to calm his seemingly panicking boyfriend.

“Arthur. Arthur.”

The sound of his voice seems to soothe Arthur, who stops trembling and lets Alfred touch his cheek. Alfred carefully eases forward, murmuring Arthur’s name all the while, and kisses his other cheek. When Arthur relaxes a little more, he starts peppering kisses down his cheek until finally their mouths meet. Alfred can feel Arthur soundlessly saying what might be his name against his lips, which makes him break away and brush Arthur’s cheek with his thumb.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks.

Arthur shakes his head. “Just stay close.”

“I’ll be right here, sweetheart,” he says, then instantly freezes. He refers to Arthur as “sweetheart” in his head all the time, but he’s never said it out loud before. That will most assuredly be enough for Arthur to want to stop this. A quick glance at Arthur reveals that his eyebrows are furrowed, but not in anger. It’s more like confusion, like he’s lost.

He resumes his previously interrupted foreplay, this time holding Arthur in his arms as he does so. It means he can’t go as low as he’d like, but he’s not about to let go of Arthur. Arthur’s fingers clutching at his back and his heavy breathing tell him that he’s not willing to wait any longer. He kisses Arthur again as he reaches for the contents of the pharmacy bag, and Arthur shifts up onto his knees once he hears the telltale opening of the bottle of lubricant, giving Alfred easier access.

He’s careful to be gentle as he prepares Arthur for what’s to come. Arthur squirms regardless, but Alfred can’t blame him. It will never stop feeling strange to him either.

“On my lap, all right?” he asks when he’s done and reaching for a condom.

Arthur nods the affirmative and waits patiently until Alfred pulls him forward, then downwards. It’s a bit of an awkward position, but he doesn’t want Arthur to panic. That would be a giant step backwards instead of a small step forward. Arthur doesn’t wait before he starts to move, and Alfred follows suit, taking back control so he can go at a slower pace. Arthur never says anything otherwise, so he assumes that this slow way of making love is all right.

Arthur’s mouth is at his neck, then at his chin, and Alfred realizes that he’s blindly searching for his mouth with touch alone. He quickly turns his head to capture Arthur’s lips in his, so they can kiss sloppily while they make love. When Arthur breaks away with a gasp and digs his nail into his back, Alfred assumes he’s found that spot, and he picks up his pace slightly so Arthur takes his breath in short, pleasured gasps. It’s always Arthur’s reactions that give Alfred more pleasure than the actual sex itself.

“I love you…love you, Arthur-” he gasps and next to his ear Arthur whimpers. It’s a sound he’s never heard from Arthur before. A desperate sound that makes his heart ache.

He twists his head to give Arthur a soothing kiss, but he misses his mouth and kisses his jaw instead. Arthur trembles against him, but not in panic like before, and his choked name is all the indication Alfred needs. He never even had to touch him. He follows in completion shortly after and fights to keep his focus so he doesn’t lose his hold on Arthur.

He pulls out and quickly disposes of the condom so he can attend to Arthur, who is heaving and leaning heavily against him. He reaches up to pull off the blindfold, then lower Arthur to the bed. He leans over him as Arthur blinks into focus and looks up at him.

“It was good, right?” Alfred asks with a grin.

Arthur scoffs and rolls his eyes, but then his expression softens as their eyes meet again. He reaches up to touch Alfred’s face, tracing his cheekbones and jaw for a moment, then he opens his mouth a little more as if to speak. Alfred’s heart pounds in anticipation. Arthur moves his mouth up and down soundlessly for a few moments, then he clamps it shut and looks away in shame. Alfred deflates, but he won’t let it bother him.

“I love you, Arthur,” he says gently. Arthur looks back up at him with a slightly desperate expression on his face. Alfred smiles fondly in reply.

He wants to hear those words so badly. I love you. But he can’t force Arthur to say it if he doesn’t want to. It won’t have the same meaning if Arthur says it against his will.

The fingers holding his face curl around his jaw to pull him forward into a kiss, languid and deep. It’s not a kiss to stop him from declaring his feelings like when he was in high school, but rather a way for Arthur to declare _his_ feelings. There’s no reason for him to have any doubts. Arthur loves him. He won’t, or perhaps _can’t_ , say it, but he loves him.

When Arthur pulls away, Alfred lowers himself onto the bed next to Arthur and pulls him into his arms. It’s the cuddling that he missed the most, and he lies quietly for a moment before he finally speaks up. If anyone is going to close the distance between them, it’s going to have to be him. Already he’s beginning to see that it really doesn’t have to be that difficult at all.

“Hey, Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“I want to know everything about you, even the bad things.” Arthur looks panicked, but Alfred just pulls him closer and kisses his forehead. “You don’t have to tell me right now, you can wait until you’re ready, but I really want to know everything… I’m in this for keeps, you know.”

Arthur stares desperately at him, then turns and hides his head against his arm. Alfred rests his head on top of Arthur’s and closes his eyes.

That’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, either. Perhaps it’s just a quiet confirmation that he’ll try to work at it, the way they’ll try to work at their relationship. Because, in the end, they are simply meant to be together, and someday they’ll find their happy ending, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally posted this story on July 31st, 2010, so it's been almost seven years since I started using "sweetheart" exclusively as Alfred/America's pet name for Arthur/England. :'D


	6. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur comes to a conclusion about Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your kind comments so far. It makes me really happy to see that people out there can still enjoy this fic. :)

From the other room, amidst the sound of gunfire and explosions, Arthur can hear Alfred’s voice yelling obscenities at the television. Apparently he lost again. Arthur scoffs and adjusts Alfred’s jacket in his lap, returning to his repair of the outer lining of the garment.

After he’d accidentally learned of Alfred’s habit of getting too emotional over those loud and flashy video games he likes to play, Alfred stopped trying to hide it, so now he sits on the sofa with his headset and controller and yells at the other people he plays with or perhaps it’s just at the game himself. Arthur can’t ever follow what he’s doing, and after a few attempts to sit with Alfred while he played, he’d been inadvertently smacked in the face one too many times and stopped even trying to keep Alfred company while he plays his video games. Although at one point he swears that one of the people Alfred plays with who has the name along the lines of ‘My Awesome Self’ sounded disturbingly familiar.

So now when Alfred pulls out a game, Arthur retreats to the other room to read or, as is the case today, to sew. Alfred finally retired his beloved bomber jacket in favor of a more practical one, which he treats even worse than its predecessor, so when Alfred was mumbling about the poor state of the outside lining, Arthur offered to repair it. He learned how to sew as a child because it was easier to repair his clothes than it was to scrounge up the money to buy new ones, but now he finds it’s a relaxing hobby. One that yields results, as well.

He thinks he might take up knitting, too, since winter is coming and Alfred won’t wear a hat or scarf unless he’s prodded into doing so, and what better way than to make them himself? He’s satisfied with this conclusion and decides to make a trip to the library to find a book that will aid him in his goal.

It’s when he notices that he’s misplaced his scissors that he realizes that their flat is quiet, but he doesn’t know how long it’s been that way. Frowning, he carefully places Alfred’s jacket to the side and stands up to see what has happened to cause such an uncharacteristic silence.

When he finds Alfred, the television displays a ‘game over’ screen and Alfred himself is lying on the sofa asleep. Mostly on the sofa, that is. One arm is flung out to the side and his head is hanging off, as well. Arthur scoffs, thinking that Alfred will regret falling asleep in such a position when his neck hurts later.

“You really are ridiculous,” he says, exasperated, to the sleeping form before him. Wanting to spare Alfred some of the soreness he’ll inevitably feel later, Arthur closes the distance and pulls the controller out of Alfred’s other hand, then pulls off his glasses. With some effort, because Alfred is too heavy, he pushes him up into a more comfortable position. Alfred mumbles, but otherwise doesn’t wake as he shifts slightly. Arthur is about to leave him be, but instead he lingers. For a moment he just stares at Alfred, then he slowly kneels beside him and reaches out to touch his face.

At this close proximity he can map out the finest details on Alfred’s face. The barely there spray of freckles across his cheeks, the slight indentation on his nose from where his glasses have pressed too hard too often, the beginnings of lines on his forehead, his eyelids fluttering ever so slightly in sleep. Alfred called him gorgeous, when it’s really _Alfred_ who is the beautiful one, in more ways than one.

Alfred has still made no moves to suggest that he’ll wake up, so Arthur drapes himself across Alfred’s chest so he can place his ear over Alfred’s heart. He stares at the underside of Alfred’s chin for a moment, then closes his eyes. Alfred’s heartbeat, steady and strong underneath his ribcage, is a precious sound. That he’s honestly loved by this person is amazing, when he can’t understand for the life of him what Alfred could possibly see in him.

Even more amazing is how he’s been treated by Alfred as of late. Ever since that night when Alfred declared that he wanted to make love, he’s been even more aggressively affectionate, and his smiles are patient and loving, a constant reminder that he’s there and waiting for Arthur to open his heart and let him into the truth of his past.

If only it could be that easy.

In the weeks since that incident, Alfred has carried on as if they’re a completely normal couple, instead of one struggling to just stay together. On Halloween Alfred dressed up as a cowboy and spent the night in childish excitement as he passed out candy to the children who knocked on their door and refused to watch the scary movie marathons that littered every station. Instead of joining Alfred’s antics, he spent the duration of the night hiding in their bedroom. In the end, Alfred had come to join him, cuddling him on their bed and whispering how next year they should celebrate together.

Next year, tomorrow, later. Promises of the future he doesn’t see them having. In the end, it’s only Alfred who is moving forward, while Arthur is struggling to not let him out of his sight.

They haven’t had sex since then, which is just as well, since Arthur is still afraid to touch Alfred like that after what happened, and it had been the most emotionally draining sex of his life besides. He hadn’t thought much of it when Alfred offered him the blindfold, but the moment he put it on, panic overtook him.

He had been naked in the dark. Vulnerable, helpless. Even though he _knew_ it was just Alfred nearby, his mind had painted pictures of angry voices and hands ready to strike. When someone had suddenly touched him, he felt as though he were a small child again, unable to stop what was happening to him and not knowing why it was happening to begin with. He’d been ready to tear the blindfold off his face.

But then there had been Alfred’s voice, then Alfred’s touch and Alfred’s warmth. Alfred, familiar and safe in the darkness, had lavished love and care upon him, and he’d almost wanted to cry because Alfred called him ‘sweetheart’ and said ‘I love you’ and he meant it, when he’d once been a child wishing for happiness that never came and he’d given up believing that it would ever happen.

Now he has Alfred, and it hurts to be in love and to be loved, but in a way he doesn’t know how to deal with. He pushes, but Alfred doesn’t relent. He pulls away, but Alfred holds on. He breaks, and Alfred tries to fix him.

Arthur opens his eyes and lifts his head from Alfred’s chest so he can stare at the still sleeping teenager. This person he loves so painfully and doesn’t know what to do to make things all right between them that won’t run the risk of chasing Alfred away forever. He can trust Alfred to keep away the demons that nip at his heels in the darkness, but can he trust Alfred with the knowledge of _what_ those demons are?

“I love you,” he says to Alfred’s sleeping face, imagining instead that he’s awake to hear it. That he’ll be able to tell Alfred about his mother abandoning him, his father and brothers abusing him, what that scar he’s always trying to touch really is, about Gilbert and the horrible things he did because life didn’t matter and he was going to die young and alone.

He pulls away so Alfred can continue to sleep and quietly leaves so he can finish his work on the jacket.

For all he thinks of Alfred’s love one day dying, he can’t imagine life without Alfred either. He can’t imagine life not waking up to his face, seeing his smile, eating his butter drenched breakfasts, hearing him swearing at the television in the other room, watching him act like an idiot to amuse some children, being held and loved and wanted when he was always worthless, unloved Arthur Kirkland who no one, not even his mother, wanted.

The work on the jacket is finished in silence. Silence, that is, until Alfred suddenly appears at the doorway, looking groggy, and winces as he rubs at his neck. Just as Arthur suspected would happen.

“Man, remind me not to do that again…oh hey! You finished my jacket! You’re seriously the best!” he exclaims and tries it on for size, looking quite pleased with himself all the while. Arthur watches him in silence, wanting to say everything at once, but unable to say even one word of what he feels.

“I was going to go get some ice cream. You want some? I promise I won’t get the coffee flavor this time.”

And there it is, that patient smile that makes his heart ache, and Arthur swallows the lump lodged in his throat. He stands up and makes his way next to Alfred, who tilts his head in confusion, but continues to smile in the same way. He stares at Alfred and opens his mouth. Alfred’s smile fades ever so slightly. He couldn’t say it before, but now... He can’t wait forever, even if Alfred will.

That’s it, right there. There is a chasm between them, he knows, but he’s now also beginning to realize, or rather accept, something he’s known all along. On the other side of that chasm Alfred is there waiting patiently with his arms held wide open to catch Arthur when he decides to join him. More than that, Alfred will continue to wait forever if need be. So all he has to do is leap…

“I love you,” he says, and it’s not a dream. Not just a fancy. He’s really said it, and there will not be any taking those words back now.

There are no fireworks. No marching band in a rain of confetti. It’s still just he and Alfred. Alfred, whose blue eyes get impossibly wide before he pulls Arthur roughly into his arms. They stay frozen in that position, Arthur blinking and Alfred silent against his neck, until finally Arthur whispers hesitantly next to Alfred’s ear.

“Alfred?”

Alfred laughs, though it comes out like a half sob, and then he nods against Arthur’s neck.

“I love you. Love you love you love you love you,” he murmurs over and over.

Arthur smiles, really _smiles_ , as relief washes over him. He’s said it and the world didn’t end. Alfred still loves him. He reaches his arms to wrap around Alfred and presses his face into his shoulder, breathing him in.

Alfred is hugging him so tightly that it hurts, but it doesn’t matter because Arthur is holding him just as close and his heart feels fit to burst. He doesn’t even notice as they slowly sink to the floor, clinging to each other and laughing, when Arthur doesn’t remember the last time he’s honestly laughed before this moment.

_This_ is happiness. Warm and bright just like Alfred, because Alfred has been happiness all along, but Arthur never trusted himself enough to accept it. A small child’s wish against all odds finally granted.

He’s not foolish. He knows that professing his love is not a panacea for all the problems in his life. He still believes that one day Alfred will stop loving him, and he knows that things won’t always be smooth between them, but he’s done holding himself back. He’s ready to try being happy, no matter how fleeting it will be.

He imagines himself as leaping across that chasm in slow motion, that bit by bit he’ll make it to the other side, because Alfred will be there waiting patiently for him, arms wide open, and he’ll be just as warm as ever.


	7. While I'm Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur learns more about his half-brother when Alfred goes home for Thanksgiving.

Arthur pulls his jacket tighter around himself, as if he hopes that will somehow mask his identity, as he leaves the unassuming brick building, for, unassuming though it may seem, the prominently displayed placard listing the mental health offices he’d been visiting gives away the true nature of his activities. He jogs until he’s a good distance away, then he walks at a much more casual pace and lets out the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. It seems that no one saw him.

There’s nothing wrong with seeking help, he’d been assured over and over by the doctor, but he’s always had a tough front, and he hates showing any vulnerability besides. Going to that office was like admitting that he had a problem, and that is something he simply does not do. He just puts up with everything, takes life in stride and accepts everything as an inevitability.

But he _does_ have a problem, and it’s something he can’t deny. He was hurt by the people he loved in the past, and those experiences are having a negative effect on his relationship with the person he loves now. He doesn’t want to lose Alfred because he’s afraid of opening up and being vulnerable, and he doesn’t want to lose him if he were to open up. What if he started to tell Alfred about his past and the memories were so overwhelming that he’d lash out and hurt Alfred? Or maybe Alfred would learn the truth about his lover and be so disgusted that he’d leave?

It’s why he decided to see a professional first. Less for himself, because he’s never really cared about his own wellbeing, more for his relationship with Alfred. If he can tell a stranger the truth, then he can trust that information to Alfred.

It had been uncomfortable. He hated telling some balding man with glasses that he’d been abandoned and abused, and being asked about how he felt about those things and other such nonsense. Although he’d agreed to weekly sessions, the end of the first couldn’t come fast enough. Now he just wants to go home and see Alfred, who will radiate the happiness he’s been feeling lately.

Arthur smiles to himself slightly as he waits for the bus that will take him home. Finally saying ‘I love you’ was one of the best things he could have ever done. Alfred’s happiness has been downright tangible, and it’s hard for Arthur not to adopt some of that joy himself. Occasionally they’ll just be sitting and eating breakfast, and Alfred will look over at him and beam. Or he’ll catch Arthur in a hug from behind, or hold him extra close at night, or kiss him for seemingly no reason, among many other things.

The bus eases to a halt at the curb, and Arthur scans his pass before he looks around for an empty seat. His heart skips a beat when he sees who is sitting in one of the front rows, and all thoughts of Alfred and his visit to the psychologist are forgotten.

It’s his half brother, clad in the uniform of a private school, playing one of those Playstation things that Alfred has been wanting for awhile and sitting next to a terrifying man in glasses. Not his mother, Arthur realizes with a great deal of relief. They are both distracted enough that Arthur is able to slip into a seat close behind them without being noticed.

His brother’s name is Peter, something he learned on accident when his mother called to the boy when he was hassling the Polish cashier. His mother is a regular at that store, much to Arthur’s horror, and she doesn’t have a set schedule for when she comes in, so he can’t organize his own schedule to avoid hers. Sometimes she brings Peter along, and sometimes she doesn’t. Each time he sees her, younger brother present or not, he wishes he could somehow burn a hole through her chest right to her heart with just a heated glare alone, so she might know even a fraction of the pain she’s brought on him. Other such ugly, angry thoughts.

Arthur’s gaze keeps drifting over to where Peter and the man with him are sitting, and he wonders if the man is Peter’s father. His step-father then? In which case, he hates him already. Anyone who would even think to touch that woman disgusts him.

The bus eases to the curb when it reaches his stop, and his heart feels like it’s in his throat when the man stands up, as well.

“C’mon,” he says to Peter, who leaps to his feet and follows the man off the bus. Arthur follows shortly after, and the sick sensation in his chest steadily increases as he realizes that his brother and might be step-father are heading in the same direction he is. He feels like he might throw up when they enter the lobby of his and Alfred’s building, but he continues to carefully keep his distance until they disappear onto the elevator. He watches the numbers above the elevator doors until they stop on the 6th floor, two floors above the flat he shares with Alfred.

He can’t believe that he’d be living all these months with his mother just two floors above him. Now that he knows, it’s an almost certainty that he’ll run into her, or, worse, _Alfred_ will run into her. There’s no way Alfred wouldn’t be able to make the connection between the two of them, not when he takes so strongly after her, and then he’ll have to explain everything, and he’s not ready to do that yet. His knees feel weak underneath him, but he manages to stumble onto the elevator before he collapses onto the elevator floor.

He won’t let her ruin his life again, not when he’s finally found someone he can honestly say makes him happy that he made it through all those miserable years, because the light at the end of the tunnel was Alfred. With him life is difficult and painful, but it’s pain worth enduring for the happiness that is reaped at the end of their struggles.

Although he’s not sure how he’ll manage it, he’ll have to make sure that neither he nor Alfred ever runs into her, and that their fragile little happiness isn’t shattered because she sought to ruin the lives of her eldest children.

He climbs back to his feet and straightens himself as the elevator opens to their floor, and he tries to push his nausea to the back of his mind in favor of the anticipation of seeing Alfred, who will probably jump him at the door. Not that he’d mind too much if he did.

As he pushes the door to their flat open there is no immediate sign of Alfred, much to Arthur’s disappoint, but as he closes the door behind him and walks further into the flat, Alfred’s voice comes from the sofa, probably where Alfred was playing video games.

“And here we have the wild Arthur in its natural habitat! What an attractive specimen it is, too!”

All of this is said in a dreadful attempt at a posh English accent, and when Arthur starts to scoff at Alfred’s antics, he realizes that Alfred has that little camera that Kiku gave him in his hands, and that it’s pointed in his direction. Arthur scowls at the beaming smile Alfred gives him.

“Stop pointing that thing at me,” Arthur grumbles.

“Oh! It appears we might have aggravated it! Best tread carefully or we might lose the opportunity for some up close interaction!” Alfred replies in a still dreadful attempt at an accent. 

Arthur gives him an unimpressed look in response, and Alfred chuckles nervously. Arthur rolls his eyes and looks away when Alfred continues to point the camera in his direction, but looks back over at him when he hears shuffling.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Alfred says as he puts the camera to the side and holds open his arms.

Arthur’s face burns slightly at the endearment, but he complies. Alfred pulls him into a loose embrace and nuzzles at his neck, and Arthur simply closes his eyes and lets himself be held. Better to be here with Alfred, loved and wanted, instead of making himself sick thinking about his mother two floors above them. Especially since in just a few short hours he won’t have any Alfred at all for four days.

Alfred carefully eases him down on the sofa and starts kissing him, and Arthur lazily returns the sentiment, all thoughts of his mother momentarily forgotten in favor of focusing on taking as much of Alfred in as possible.

Thanksgiving. Important to most Americans, just another day to him. 

“My parents want me to come home for Thanksgiving,” Alfred said a few days earlier, glancing at Arthur over the rim of his cup of orange juice.

Arthur paused momentarily, then went back to picking at his pancakes. “You should go then.”

“What? No way! I’m going to celebrate Thanksgiving with you!” Alfred said incredulously and nearly choked on his orange juice in his shock.

Arthur simply shrugged, even if he rather liked the idea of celebrating that holiday for the first time with Alfred. “They’re asking you to come, you should go. There’s no need to alienate them even more than you already have.”

“But- Damn… Well, you should at least come with me!” Alfred said and gave him a hopeful look.

“That would definitely not be a wise thing to do and you know it, Alfred. Just go and maybe patch things up a little with them. Besides, your brother will want to see you, right?” Arthur asked, remaining carefully indifferent so Alfred wouldn’t be tempted to change his mind.

In the end Alfred agreed, and now it’s but a short time before Alfred will be heading to the airport so he can return home and celebrate Thanksgiving with his family. Four days of no Alfred, so all the more reason to enjoy that he’s being kissed languidly. Alfred’s warmth, Alfred’s weight, Alfred’s clumsy, but sincere kisses, just Alfred. They finally break apart and they stare at each other for a few moments, as if wanting to say something, but unable to do so.

“God, this weekend is going to suck,” Alfred finally groans as he lowers his head to Arthur’s chest. Arthur scoffs, but he cards his fingers in Alfred’s hair and moves his chin to rest on top of Alfred’s head.

“It’s just a weekend,” Arthur replies, although he honestly feels the same. He’ll make it through the days somehow, but he already knows he’ll be spending his nights on Alfred’s side of the bed with his face buried in the pillow, hoping that just the smell of Alfred will be enough to placate him. Not that he’ll _tell_ Alfred this.

“I still think you should come along anyway,” Alfred says quietly.

“I still think that would be a very bad idea,” Arthur replies, hoping that Alfred won’t attempt to argue that point again.

“…gonna miss you.”

Arthur doesn’t respond this time, but his lips find their way to Alfred’s forehead, and the contented sigh he gets in response tells him that Alfred understands what he can’t say out loud.

“Have you finished packing?” Arthur asks, and he feels Alfred go slightly stiff.

“…yeah,” Alfred replies hesitantly, obviously trying not to think of how he’s going to be leaving soon and they won’t be able to do this again for days. Arthur nods and closes his eyes again, and for once he hopes that Alfred will stay quiet so that he just enjoy being close to him like this and commit everything to memory. He almost has to laugh at himself at how sentimental he’s getting, and how he’s acting like four days is an eternity, but at this point it really feels like it is. He once survived entire weeks without even seeing Alfred, but now he can barely go a day without him without feeling painfully bereft.

Alfred seems to understand what he wants and remains silent, and so they just lie on the sofa together, a tangle of limbs and quiet breathing. Arthur could stay just like this and he’d be happy, but it has to end eventually. For now, though, he holds Alfred a little closer and lets himself forget about everything except the person in his arms.

* * *

They spend the rest of the afternoon as normally as possible, but time goes by mercilessly quick, and soon Alfred is packing the rest of his things into his small carryon suitcase. Arthur stays in the kitchen with a cup of tea that he doesn’t drink and stares vacantly at nothing. When Alfred appears with his mobile against his ear, Arthur stands up.

“I’ll be right out then, thanks,” Alfred says and then shoves the phone into his coat pocket. They stare at each other in silence, and then Alfred heads for the door, Arthur following close behind.

“That’s my cab,” Alfred clarifies with his hand on the door knob.

“Ah.”

“I’ll be going then,” Alfred says.

“Say hello to your brother for me,” Arthur replies, but Alfred doesn’t move. He lingers, and Arthur wonders if he’s having the same thoughts he is. That they should be meeting halfway and kissing each other for all they’re worth, relishing in taste and touch to make even this short separation bearable.

Alfred finally steps towards him, and Arthur stiffens, his lips parting in anticipation, but rather than a desperate kiss, Alfred pulls him into a light hug. Arthur stays rigid, unable to return the sentiment. It’s just a weekend, Arthur tells himself, Alfred will be back on Sunday afternoon. Alfred won’t be convinced by his parents to stay at home. He won’t be abandoned by someone he loves again.

“Bye,” Alfred says quickly, and then he disappears into the hallway. Arthur spends several moments just staring at the door, then he releases the breath he’d been holding and returns to his untouched cup of tea. It might be just a weekend, but it’s going to be a long one. It’s only Wednesday evening, and Alfred won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.

He takes his cup of tea and retrieves his carton of cigarettes from his jacket in the hallway closet, then steps out onto the balcony. Despite how cold it is outside, he sits on the chair there and finishes his tea, then lights up a cigarette. He supposes with Alfred gone that means he can smoke inside if he wants, but then he’ll just be all the more aware of his absence if he does. 

“You’ve gone soft, Kirkland,” he mumbles to himself, then laughs derisively. “Fucking hell.”

He stays out on the balcony even after he finishes his cigarette, ignoring the bite of the wind and staring out at the building’s common area and the city beyond it. Two floors up is his mother and half-brother, he remembers with that feeling of nausea returning, magnified tenfold by the ache he feels already with Alfred gone.

It’s then that he finally goes back inside, and even though it’s a little early, Arthur decides to just call it a night. The longer he stays awake, the longer he’ll think about things that just upset him.

Sprawled in the middle of the bed, Arthur is suddenly aware of just how very big it seems. There won’t be any Alfred closing the distance and holding him so close it’s almost suffocating. Just him and a bed that wasn’t meant for just one person to sleep in. Four days.

Arthur groans and rolls over onto Alfred’s side of the bed, where he buries his face in the pillow as planned.

* * *

Thursday starts off fairly early, since waking up every hour gets really old really quick, and because he doesn’t want to look like he’s pining, even if he is, and even if no one is around to see him do so. For breakfast he’s forced to eat a bowl of Alfred’s preferred sugar-coated cereal, since there’s no other cereal options at the moment and because he thinks it wouldn’t be wise to destroy the stove so early in the weekend. He makes a mental note to buy some respectable cereal sometime when the stores are open again.

For what seems like a long time Arthur just sits at the kitchen table and stares into space, wondering what he’ll do with his time. Since it’s Thanksgiving, everything will be closed, so he can’t go to the library and lose himself in books to pass the time, and he somehow wound up with the weekend off, when he’d really rather work for once.

First things first, he supposes, he should take a shower. Then he’ll go for a walk when there won’t be a lot of people out and about, and he can explore without scrutiny.

He takes his time in the shower, letting the warm water wash over him completely and closing his eyes. Long showers are something he’s never afforded himself before. When he’s completely naked like this he feels too open. It’s different when Alfred is below him or above him and there’s very little space between them. Like this he’s exposed. Vulnerable. He hates being vulnerable. But Alfred is gone, and he doesn’t live with his family anymore, so he can take his time.

Afterwards, he rummages around in the closet, looking for a particular black t-shirt, but despite all his searching, he can’t find it. He frowns. That’s his favorite shirt. He misplaces things all the time, and Alfred is always finding them in random places and having a chuckle at his expense because of it, but he finds it hard to believe that he’d misplace something like a shirt. It’s not in the hamper of dirty laundry either, leaving Arthur baffled as to what could possibly have happened to that shirt.

So instead he picks out another shirt and goes to retrieve his jacket out of the closet in the hallway, but then he stops. Inside, tucked away in the corner, is Alfred’s old bomber jacket, the one he finally gave up on wearing. Arthur stares at it, then tentatively reaches out to grab it. Very carefully he pushes his arms into the sleeves and pulls the jacket around himself. It was always just a little too big on Alfred, so he must look ridiculous wearing it, but he’s not about to take it off. He grabs his cigarettes out of his jacket and stuffs them into the pocket of the bomber jacket, then quickly leaves the flat, as if afraid he’ll be caught in the act.

He can already hear the boisterous sound of happy families enjoying each others’ company when he steps into the hallway, and he almost wonders if his mother is among them, but he quickly quashes those thoughts. Today is his day to enjoy being truly alone, and he won’t let anything ruin it.

Once outside, he lights up a cigarette, wondering where he should wander first and if maybe he looks less intimidating for once drowning in a jacket that is too big for him.

“Hey, you! You can’t smoke out here!” a child’s voice calls, and Arthur rolls his eyes, not wanting to put up with some brat who thinks he can dictate his behavior. He turns around to tell the kid off and feels the blood drain from his face before he can open his mouth. Peter is there on the small play structure, at the top of the slide pointing at him like he’s a lot bigger than he actually is.

But there’s no sign of his mother, so Arthur quickly regains his composure as he casually walks over to the play structure and blows a cloud of smoke in Peter’s direction.

“And who do you think you are telling an adult what to do?” Arthur asks as the boy coughs and then glares at him.

“My name is Peter and I’m going to be king of the world someday! So you better listen to what I say!” Peter exclaims with a proud puff of his chest. Arthur stares blankly at him, then snorts. 

“I don’t think so,” he says and blows another cloud of smoke towards Peter’s face.

“Well…you’re a jerk!” Peter shouts as he tries to wave the smoke away from him.

“Yes, and you’re quite the charming little brat yourself,” Arthur scoffs, then shifts his weight and looks away. “Shouldn’t you be inside celebrating with your family?”

“Mama doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, and she’s in England ‘taking care of business’ anyway. She asked if I wanted to come, but I said I’d rather spend time with Tino and Berwald instead,” Peter replies as he walks around the top of the play structure as if he’s already the king of the world.

“Brothers or sisters?” Arthur asks, genuinely curious if he has any other unknown siblings. That she doesn’t actually live in the same building is a huge relief, so he can relax a little.

“Nope! Mama says I’m special enough on my own,” Peter says proudly and Arthur grinds his teeth. Yes, she would say that, wouldn’t she? Never mind the four boys she already had who weren’t special enough, apparently. His thoughts are interrupted by Peter once more, who says, “Berwald and Tino are Mama’s friends. Tino is Berwald’s ‘wife’ even though he’s a boy, too.”

So that man Peter was with must have been either Tino or Berwald. Not his step-father, just friends of his mother. Still despicable, but not as bad as he’d previously thought. But then he suddenly realizes what Peter just said. They’re both men, but they’re married. Openly. He can’t help the blush that rises to his cheeks at the thought that maybe one day he and Alfred might…

“So how come you’re not with _your_ family?” Peter asks, interrupting his thoughts. Arthur looks up to see him leaning over the railing and looking down at him in curiosity.

“I don’t have a family,” Arthur says without missing a beat.

“Hmm…well, if you stop being such a jerk, maybe I’ll let you be my honorary little brother!” 

The irony of the situation nearly makes Arthur laugh, but he settles for raising an eyebrow at the boy. “ _Little_ brother?”

“Yup! And if you do everything I say, maybe you can be a prince of the world!” 

“Pass,” Arthur replies and stubs out his cigarette on the slide.

“You…big eyebrows jerk!”

“You have big eyebrows, too, you know,” Arthur says and smirks up where Peter is glaring down at him.

“I do not!!” Peter cries, but he slaps his hands over his eyebrows anyway. Arthur chuckles, and then pauses as something occurs to him. This is almost normal, isn’t it? If they were really brothers, picking on each other like this would be normal.

“How old are you, anyway?” Arthur asks in a hurry to steer the subject away from non-malicious insults.

“I’m nine years old, but I’m going to be ten soon!” Peter replies, suddenly confident again.

So Peter is the age that he was when he accepted that his life was never going to get better. When he stopped going to school and took up petty crime instead. When he stopped hoping that there might be happiness in his future. His life was going nowhere and Peter is planning to rule the world. It’s not fair, and he chews on his lip bitterly.

“Peter!” a voice calls and both he and Peter look over at the source of the voice to see a kind-faced man walking a small white dog.

“Coming, Tino!” Peter calls back and slides down the slide to run over to the man. He takes the dog’s leash in one hand and Tino’s in the other, then they walk away from where Arthur is still standing. He watches them leave and he can’t help the bitterness that wells up inside him.

He remembers a rainy day when he still a small child, innocent and in love with the world. He remembers the hand-me-down raincoat and matching boots with the print of frogs on them and of jumping in puddles even though he was supposed to stay close to his mother. And he’d been talking to imaginary friends of some kind until his mother had come and found him.

“Don’t let go of Mummy’s hand, Arthur. She doesn’t want to lose you.”

His eyes sting and he quickly looks away. How annoying. Then he remembers that he’s wearing Alfred’s jacket and he shrugs further into it, as if he can pretend that Alfred is holding him instead and reminding him that everything he endured growing up was worth it because at the end he met someone who can actually make him happy, even if they have their fair share of problems as well.

He pulls out another cigarette and sticks it stubbornly in his mouth, the burning behind his eyes gone now, and he doesn’t spare them another glance as he heads to the sidewalk.

* * *

On Friday morning he goes to the grocery store first thing to avoid the crowds and get a box of normal wheat bran without any marshmallows or brightly colored pieces or cartoon mascots on the front. 

Peter is playing on the slide again and waving a stick around in the air like a sword when Arthur returns and heads for the back door.

“Hey, jerk! Come here!” Peter calls after him, and despite his better judgment, Arthur walks over to him.

Rather than exchange insults, they wind up sitting on the nearby bench and Peter swings his legs back and forth while Arthur smokes. There’s no denying the déjà vu he feels sitting with his younger half-brother, who has no idea that that’s what their relationship to each other is, while Peter talks away about how great he is and his plans for when he rules the world, and that jerks like Arthur will be bowing down to him. It’s not quite like those afternoons on the roof the school years ago, but it’s too similar to ignore. The bitterness from the day before is gone, because he’s been too busy pining (though he’ll never admit this out loud), especially in this similar situation, to feel any resentment towards his brother, who hasn’t, and probably won’t, know the sort of pain he somehow managed to escape.

But he learns that Peter doesn’t know his father, which doesn’t surprise Arthur in the least, and that he lives in a nice house with his mother, but when she has to go somewhere, he stays with Tino and Berwald, who are close friends of his mother. Despite this, Peter doesn’t really have any friends. The way he admits this screams of a boy who is really lonely, but is keeping a tough front to hide that he really wants some company. Perhaps this is why he’s willing to sit with Arthur, despite the things said the day before.

Arthur, for his part, never says a word, but he takes everything in, trying to paint a vague picture in his mind of what things are like between Peter and his mother. She takes care of him, loves him like she never did for her eldest children, but even so, she’s still not doing a very good job if Peter is so lonely that he’d be willing to sit with him. Even now she’s screwing things up, but that’s to be expected, Arthur thinks bitterly.

It’s afternoon by the time both Tino and Berwald come out to retrieve Peter, and the cereal Arthur bought is placed in a cupboard in favor of making a peanut butter sandwich for lunch instead.

On Saturday, Arthur finds himself going out to the play structure again and is actually relieved to find Peter there. Peter has cookies that he shares with Arthur, who continues to remain silent while Peter talks about Tino’s pet dog and how he hopes that he’ll be able to get his own pet sometime, like a dragon or a tiger or something fit for the king of the world.

They’re both lonely, Arthur realizes. Peter is waiting for his mother, and Arthur is waiting for Alfred. Besides, sitting out with Peter and learning about him is a better way to pass the time than sitting in the flat feeling sorry for himself and wearing Alfred’s shirts while he knits sock after sock, as he’s been doing the past couple of nights. 

“You never told me your name, jerk!” Peter suddenly perks up and Arthur takes his cigarette out of his mouth. He wonders if he should tell him the truth, because what if Peter decides to tell their mother about the boy with the big eyebrows that he met while she was away? 

“…it’s Arthur,” he finally replies, and if she makes the connection, then she makes the connection. He doesn’t want to have to explain to anyone else why he gave a child a fake name instead of his real one.

“Like the king? Maybe you can be a prince, after all!” Peter says brightly, and Arthur rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

He feels as though he should seriously resent this boy, but he finds he doesn’t. It’s not as though Peter could help that he was born to a woman who abandoned the sons she already had and sought a better life for herself without them. He can’t help that she’s a horrible woman. He just has to make the best of his circumstances like everyone else.

When Tino comes to retrieve Peter that afternoon, his gaze lingers on Arthur before he ushers Peter back inside.

* * *

Arthur doesn’t sleep at all that night, the anticipation that Alfred will be home soon is too great for him to drift off, despite the fact that he hasn’t slept very well since Alfred left and he’s exhausted as a result. He won’t spend his morning with Peter this time, not when he has to clean up the oven he likely ruined and remove any evidence that he was wearing Alfred’s shirts and sleeping on his side of the bed. He wonders if he should make something for Alfred to eat, but he’ll probably get better food from his parents before he leaves.

As he takes out the garbage, he’s interrupted as he passes the floor’s landing.

“Excuse me.”

Arthur turns around to see Tino standing there, and a rush of panic overcomes him. Of course he would notice that Arthur was spending a lot of time with Peter, but he had hoped to not be confronted about it.

“Yes?” he replies as calmly as possible.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Peter,” Tino says pleasantly, and Arthur relaxes slightly. When Arthur doesn’t say anything, Tino continues. “I was wondering, though… Are you related to him at all? A cousin, perhaps?”

Arthur scoffs and looks away. He’s been caught, and it was foolish of him to think that he wouldn’t be. But now he has no choice but to tell the truth, because even if that’s not what he wants to do, it’s easier than telling a lie and getting caught in it later. “You noticed then? No, I guess there’s no way you couldn’t notice. She never told you then?”

Tino blinks and tilts his head to the side slightly. “She..?”

“Peter’s mother,” Arthur clarifies and he lets out a sarcastic bark of a laugh. “She never told you about her four other sons?”

Tino’s eyes widen in shock, and he moves his mouth wordlessly for a moment, before he finally manages to choke out, “then you…?”

“Arthur Kirkland, the youngest of four brothers. Did you know she abandoned me when I was only four?”

“I didn’t-”

“And now here she is with another son and he has no idea about his four older brothers?” Arthur snaps, suddenly unable to hold back his bitterness. “I hate her. I don’t care what you think about her.”

Tino swallows, then he nods and smiles sympathetically. Arthur scoffs and looks away.

“…you may not believe it, but Audrey is a good woman. She loves Peter very much and takes good care of him. I’m… I had no idea that she did that, I’m sorry. I’m certain she would love to see you, though. She’ll be here to pick up Peter later this afternoon if you want-”

“I never want to see her again, and I don’t want her to know that I’m here. She can burn in hell for all I care. You too, if you really think that woman is worth any time at all,” Arthur interrupts, and stomps off down the hall towards the garbage chute again, leaving Tino to stare sadly after him.

He tosses the garbage in the chute and stares after it, slamming his fist against the wall in frustration. He hates this. He said too much, and it will probably come back to haunt him. He’ll have to confront her, and he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he has to. Everything he’s overcome will come undone again in a matter of moments if he has to face her once more.

After a while he peers into the hallway and finds that Tino isn’t there, then he makes a beeline for his flat to spend the rest of the morning trying to think about Alfred and not that soon that woman will be in the same building to get Peter. But as usual, he winds up stewing in his thoughts and going in circles. 

It’s as he’s lying on the bed staring at the ceiling and trying to think of ways to avoid unnecessary confrontations later that he hears the door open and then he snaps upwards. This is what he’s been anticipating since Wednesday evening, and he has to get a hold of himself before his unpleasant experience ruins what should be a happy reunion between him and Alfred. But he’s so busy trying to gather his thoughts that he forgets to meet Alfred at the door, and so Alfred suddenly appears in the doorway to their bedroom and they stare at each other without saying a word until Arthur quickly slips off the bed and onto his feet.

“Hi,” Alfred says, though he doesn’t move from the door.

“Hello,” Arthur replies. They stand and stare at each other in silence, and Arthur wonders why they aren't kissing yet. Hugging. Anything. Maybe Alfred’s relatives said something to him that made him completely adverse to the idea of touching him. Eventually the silence and sheer awkwardness become too much for Arthur. “How was your trip?”

Alfred purses his lips and shrugs. “It was okay. Ate too much. Matt says hi, by the way.”

“Things were civil between you, then?” Arthur asks, and he really wants to kiss Alfred. He wants to forget his miserable weekend and cling to Alfred instead, but they continue to stand apart.

“Civil as it could be, I guess. Mom and Dad were careful never to mention that their son has a boyfriend to all my relatives,” Alfred replies with no small trace of bitterness. “They were saying they’d be willing to pay for my schooling if I’d come back home and go to their preferred school instead.”

“And what did you say?” Arthur asks, although he already knows the answer. Alfred is here. Alfred came back, and that says everything right there.

“What do you think?” Alfred replies and smiles sheepishly.

They must both move towards each other at the same time, because then they’re _finally_ kissing and holding each other, and Arthur is lifted off his feet by Alfred’s enthusiastic embrace, but he doesn’t care. He clings to Alfred and breathes him in, and just how much he missed him becomes apparent now that they’re together.

“I missed you,” Alfred murmurs near his ear as he breaks the kiss and just holds Arthur close. Arthur nods and all unpleasant thoughts are gone for now. It’s just him and Alfred, hopefully not to be separated again for a while.

Finally Alfred lowers him back down to the floor and both try to regain their composure as if they weren’t just ridiculously sentimental at finally seeing each other again.

“Bet you haven’t eaten anything good since I left, so I’m gonna whip you up something really awesome! Hope the stove still works!” Alfred says brightly and Arthur glares at him.

“I’ll just organize your laundry then,” Arthur replies and Alfred nods the affirmative. After one last quick kiss, Alfred moves cheerfully towards the kitchen. 

Arthur meanwhile picks up Alfred’s suitcase and puts it on the bed where it will be easier to make the appropriate piles. As he opens it up, something seems off. In amongst the pile of Alfred’s t-shirts is another garment that is dark and decidedly not Alfred-like. As he pulls it out he realizes what it is. The shirt he’d been looking for a few days ago. Alfred took his shirt.

A mix of exasperation, embarrassment and above all affection rushes through him, and he scoffs at the mental image of Alfred curling up with that shirt, too small for him to wear, in place of him, who was too far away to hold. So he wasn’t alone in his pining.

“Hey, Arthur! Did you have any requests for-” He stops short when he realizes what Arthur is holding, and then his face goes pale, only to turn a bright shade of red shortly after.

“This is my shirt,” Arthur says and holds it up for Alfred to see.

Alfred’s blush deepens. “That’s…it was…because…yeah.”

Arthur chuckles and Alfred looks affronted. 

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me,” Alfred says and walks over to snatch the shirt out of Arthur’s hands.

“I’m not laughing,” Arthur replies, but he _is_ laughing. Not at Alfred for taking his shirt, but at both of them for being so ridiculous that they took to stealing each other’s shirts as poor replacements for the other.

Alfred continues to look angry, but then his expression fades into something more affectionate, and he chuckles slightly as well.

“Make whatever you want,” Arthur finally says and wipes at his eyes. “I’m going to go do your…and mine, as well, I suppose, laundry.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Alfred says with still bright red cheeks and leaves the room as Arthur continues his sorting and occasionally chuckles.

As he stuffs clothes into the washing machine in the laundry room, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks over to where the window is and, looking out, he notices what it is. Down in the parking lot is his mother, standing outside of a car. Peter appears and rushes towards her, and he’s swept up into a hug while Tino and Berwald stand a small distance away. He watches them for a moment, then he looks away. He somehow knows that today he won’t be forced to face her, but the day is coming. 

For now he yawns and prepares himself for whatever butter drenched meal Alfred has made for him. He’s looking forward to actually getting some sleep, and not stewing in destructive thoughts.

As he puts money in the machine, he spares one last glance out the window, just in time to see his mother’s car pull out of the parking lot and disappear down the street.


	8. Under the Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert drops by for a visit and decides to rile things up a bit.
> 
> Alternately titled: "Gilbert is a Troll"

Alfred grins as he slams the lid to his laptop shut and goes to find Arthur. While Kiku may be his best friend ever and a total ace at video games, the fact remains that Alfred will never be as good as him, so playing multiplayer games with him always results in his utter defeat. That’s why it’s a good thing there’s Gilbert, Ludwig’s wayward brother turned mooch, who is his gaming equal, even if Gilbert is a sore loser and sometimes cheater. Because Gilbert has nothing better to do than troll forums or hang out on Xbox Live, Alfred invited him to hang out for the weekend as one last hoorah before he has to hunker down for his finals looming on the horizon.

He finds Arthur in the kitchen preparing a cup of tea in the electric kettle he bought after Arthur’s complaints that microwaving water wasn’t an acceptable way to make proper tea and that he refused to use the water out of the coffee pot, because of the ever present taste of coffee there.

“Hey!” he says brightly just as Arthur pours himself a cup. Arthur nods in greeting. “It’s cool if one of my friends stays the weekend, right?”

“Kiku again, I expect?” Arthur replies as he takes a delicate sip of his tea.

“Kiku’s too busy with school to come visit for awhile… This time it’s a different friend. You remember Ludwig, right? It’s his brother, Gilbert!”

Alfred’s reply is shattered porcelain and he looks in shock over at Arthur, who crushed the teacup in his hand. The mess on the floor is the least of Alfred’s worries when he realizes that Arthur’s blood is intermixing with the tea dripping onto the floor.

“Arthur?! What-- Let me help you!” he gasps and rushes forward to grab at Arthur’s hand.

Arthur shakes his head out of his daze and he pushes Alfred out of the way with his uninjured hand. 

“I’ve got this, Alfred. It’s all right…” he says as he clutches his hand and makes his way to the bathroom. Alfred follows in a worried panic, but he doesn’t have to do anything after all. Arthur cleans and bandages his wound with such practiced ease that it’s painfully clear that it’s not the first time he’s ever had to do such a thing. But he still doesn’t know and can’t ask about why Arthur would be experienced with such a thing. He bites at the inside of his cheek and wishes that Arthur would trust him enough to tell him.

But there’s the more pressing matter of why Arthur broke that teacup in the first place, and that needs to be addressed first.

“What’s wrong, Arthur? Is it not okay if Gilbert comes by?”

“It’s fine. Fine. I have to clean up that mess,” Arthur says in a hurry and pushes past him. Alfred watches him, but doesn’t follow. He lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair instead. Arthur isn’t telling him something, but he can’t begin to guess what it is.

He makes his way back to the kitchen where Arthur is picking up the shattered porcelain by hand.

“If you don’t want him coming, he doesn’t have-”

“It’s _fine_ , Alfred,” Arthur snaps and whips his head around to glare at him. Arthur quickly ties off the plastic bag he’d been putting the teacup pieces into and stands, heading for the door and disappearing into the hallway, presumably to take the bag to the garbage shoot.

It’s not fine, that much is clear, but how can he back out now that he and Gilbert have already made the commitment? At the same time, how can he do something that has Arthur so obviously upset? Maybe he’s worried about Gilbert finding out about their relationship, he doesn’t know.

When Arthur comes back, he acts as though nothing is out of the ordinary, so Alfred decides to proceed as planned.

* * *

Although it might seem weird to others, Alfred likes hanging out in airports. He likes to see the variety of people who pass through and witness reunions between loved ones. His favorites are when lovers are reunited, running to meet each other halfway and kissing and holding each other like the rest of the world doesn’t matter. He sometimes imagines a reunion like that between him and Arthur, but Arthur has already proven that he’s much more subtle about being happy to see him after a separation. 

Since he’s not here to meet a loved one, just Gilbert, he takes the time to look around. Seeing a father reunite with his daughter and wife is a happy enough sight to take his mind off how cold Arthur was acting that morning. It was too late at that point to cancel Gilbert’s visit, but it didn’t stop the guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach knowing that he was upsetting his boyfriend.

“Hey, 'Space Nerd'!” 

Alfred rolls his eyes as he turns around to see Gilbert approaching with just a carry-on and that arrogant smirk of his.

It had, of course, been a shock when uptight, stoic Ludwig introduced their group of friends to his wayward brother, Gilbert, who is nothing like his younger brother. But somehow they get along. Which is a lucky thing since Gilbert lives with Ludwig now and mooches off him. Gilbert was disowned by their parents, it seems, but he never bothered to ask the details. He doesn’t want to know. They managed to bond over their mutual love of video games with a lot of explosions, so it didn’t really matter.

“It’s 'Space Cowboy', ‘My Obnoxious Self’,” Alfred says, letting his own smirk slide onto his face.

Gilbert snorts. “Feh, it’s a stupid name either way.”

“Whatever, let’s get going. We’re wasting precious time when I could be kicking your ass instead.”

Just like when they play on Xbox Live or chat over AIM, a lot of insults are hurled on the drive home, complete with Gilbert commenting on what a piece of shit his car is, but that’s just how they are. It’s what works and makes them friends. He’ll never confide his anxieties in Gilbert like he does with Kiku, but Gilbert is the best person to turn to when he just wants to goof off.

Alfred hopes that Arthur has calmed down as they arrive at the apartment building and Gilbert comments on how it’s boring that he’s not living closer to campus where more cute girls like that brunette they passed live. Alfred is careful to tell Gilbert that Elizaveta has a boyfriend already, so he’s just wasting his time if he thinks she’ll be interested.

Arthur is reading the paper when he opens the door and ushers Gilbert inside. He motions to where Arthur is sitting and hopes that introductions will improve Arthur’s mood about the whole thing.

“So, Gilbo! This is my roommate Arthur--”

“Kirkland,” Gilbert finishes, and Alfred blinks in confusion when he realizes that Gilbert is addressing Arthur directly.

“Beilschmidt,” Arthur snaps back, his expression full of abject hatred.

Alfred looks in shock between the two of them. “You two know each other?”

Gilbert smirks, never taking his eyes off Arthur. “Oh yes, Artie and I know each other _very_ well.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Arthur says, folding up the paper and disappearing presumably into their bedroom. Alfred stares anxiously at the spot previously occupied by his boyfriend. This was something he definitely wasn’t expecting. But Gilbert was a delinquent once himself, wasn’t he? So maybe they crossed paths before. Maybe Gilbert…

“Come on, hero. You promised some Halo. Then you’ll see that your accusations of cheating are unfounded and it’s purely my awesome skill. Or maybe you just suck.”

“Hey. Go to hell,” Alfred says irritably, snapping out of his daze. He affords one last glance in the direction of their closed bedroom door as he goes over to the TV and couch to set up the game.

As expected, Gilbert isn’t quite as good in person as he is when he’s on the other side of the TV, obviously because he’s a rotten cheater, but he’s still enough of a challenge that they’re pretty evenly matched. They shuffle through video games and enough pizza and soda for an army. Gilbert even offers to buy some booze, but Alfred turns him down. He doesn’t like the stuff, he says, and Gilbert calls him a goody-goody. Not that Alfred cares.

Arthur never shows his face, which makes Alfred feel sick with guilt that he’s so alienated him, and he keeps glancing in the direction of their bedroom. Gilbert seems to notice, because at one point he scoffs.

“By the way, I know you and Kirkland are like that, so you don’t have to pretend you’re not. Just keep it quiet at night, yeah?”

Alfred blushes despite himself, embarrassed that he was caught, and tries to brush it off as coolly as possible. When he utterly obliterates Gilbert in their next game, Gilbert’s string of obscenities is music to his ears.

Arthur is already in bed when he and Gilbert decide to call it a night. When he undresses and crawls into bed, Arthur’s turned back is a sign that he wants to be left alone, so Alfred doesn’t bother reaching for him. He hates it when they stay on opposite sides of the bed, when there’s some sort of bad feelings between them.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks the ceiling, hoping that Arthur will be the one to answer.

At first there’s silence, and Alfred assumes that Arthur really is mad at him, but then Arthur rolls over and shifts over to touch his face. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he says quietly. Alfred smiles, then leans forward to kiss Arthur and pull him close. This is much better.

* * *

The next morning, however, Arthur still refuses to come out of their room, not even for breakfast. Since Arthur already skipped lunch and dinner the previous day, Alfred brings him the least messy breakfast he can manage that will still be filling enough. Gilbert will be leaving that night, so things can return to normal. Normal for them, anyway.

He leaves Arthur to his breakfast and returns to find Gilbert already raring to go and waste another day doing nothing but play video games. Arthur usually stays in the other room when he plays games, but he knows that this is not like those other times. Usually he’ll at least come out to make himself tea or roll his eyes or _something_ , but this can only be called sulking. But he won’t get a chance to ask about it until Gilbert leaves.

In the end, though, he doesn’t have to wait for Gilbert to leave to get his unspoken question answered. It’s as Gilbert is packing up what few things he brought in his carry-on while Alfred waits so he can give him a ride to the airport that Gilbert suddenly smirks.

“So does Kirkland still like it rough?”

Alfred blinks and then furrows his brow at confusion while Gilbert continues to smirk and pack his stuff.

“What?” he asks simply, and Gilbert’s smirk simply widens.

“You know. Sex. Does he still like it rough? He used to get really pissy if I wasn’t violent enough with him and then he’d just take matters into his own hands like the twisted little-”

Without thinking, Alfred rushes forward and punches Gilbert in the nose, then steps back and stares at his fist in a daze. He doesn’t want to hear this. That Gilbert didn’t just know Arthur, but he…

“No? Kirkland’s gone soft, eh?” Gilbert says as he wipes at his nose and continues to grin. Alfred breathes heavily and stares in dismay at him. “What, don’t tell me he never told you? You didn’t really think Kirkland was pure and untouched before he met you, did you?”

“Shut up,” Alfred says lowly, his other hand curling into a fist.

“I wasn’t the only one, either. Kirkland used to really get around. Men and women, maybe a few of both…”

“Shut up!!” Alfred shouts and he very nearly punches Gilbert again, but he stops himself just before his fist connects. Gilbert gingerly moves his head to the side to look at him, and Alfred blinks back the tears that are stinging at his eyes.

“…maybe you haven’t realized, but he’s in love with you, you know. Kirkland wouldn’t even think to waste his time doing all this moving and living together shit unless he had it really bad for you,” Gilbert says, his expression and tone suddenly sober.

“I know he loves me,” Alfred says indignantly, insulted that Gilbert would even suggest such a thing, even if he himself had doubts about Arthur’s feelings not that long ago.

“So what does it matter if I tell you these things, eh? Not like you don’t know what he went through, right?”

Alfred knows he must look helpless then, because no, he doesn’t know what Arthur went through. Gilbert snorts.

“You’re kidding. Do you even know anything about him? What his life was like?”

“I…” he swallows hard and looks down at the floor. “No. I don’t know exactly what his life was like.”

“Heh. Well, Kirkland is one fucked up kid, I’ll tell you that.”

He starts to open his mouth to defend Arthur, because Gilbert is seriously overstepping lines at this point, but he doesn’t get a chance to.

“ _Beilschmidt_ ,” Arthur’s venom-laced voice interrupts from the door. Both turn to see Arthur standing there, his face wild with fury.

“Arthur…” Alfred starts to say.

“Get out, Alfred,” Arthur says in such a dangerous tone that Alfred doesn’t even try to argue. He quickly slips out and goes into their bedroom and closes the door before he starts tearing at his hair.

Of course he knows that Arthur had been with others before him, but he never thought that tally might include someone he knows. Now he can’t stop thinking of Gilbert touching Arthur, bringing him pleasure, making him cry out…

He shakes his head and slams his fist against the wall. He hates it. He hates the thought of Arthur kissing someone else, wanting someone else, gazing at someone else with veiled longing. Arthur loves him, and that’s why they’re together, but it’s as Gilbert said. He doesn’t know a thing about what Arthur’s life was like, and yet Gilbert does. Doesn’t that say something right there?

Alfred slumps onto their bed and chews on the inside of his cheek in frustration. He thought they were making progress, but now he’s feeling like they’re moving backwards again. What is he supposed to do to make Arthur trust him, though? He can’t force him to talk about his past, but how can they ever be really happy if Arthur won’t say anything?

“Alfred…” Arthur’s voice interrupts his thoughts and he looks up to see Arthur tentatively closing the door behind him. The fury is gone from his face, replaced with open remorse. Alfred sits up and looks away from Arthur.

“So you and Gilbert were really…like that?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ever hurt you?”

“…I wanted him to.”

“Is that what you like?” Alfred asks miserably, afraid of what the answer will be. As if he didn’t feel like a terrible lover to begin with, now he learns that Arthur prefers to be hurt during sex. But he can’t imagine hurting Arthur, not when his body is already riddled with scars…

“…no.” Alfred looks in surprise over at Arthur, whose face is bright red and turned away. “I prefer when _we_ make love…when you’re gentle.”

Alfred straightens his slumped shoulders, his confidence renewed slightly, but then it’s his turn to look away.

“Why didn’t you tell me? When I said Gilbert was coming, you were upset, but you didn’t say anything.”

“I was hoping you’d never have to find out.”

“That’s not fair of you, Arthur.”

“…I know. I understand if you don’t want me to stay here anymore or…”

Alfred quickly stands and closes the distance between them, pulling Arthur roughly into his arms and closing his eyes.

“Don’t be stupid. As if I’d stop loving you,” he says firmly. He hears Arthur’s breath hitch, then he’s pushed away slightly so Arthur can look at him. It’s not a happy face that Alfred sees, though, but one that’s desperate and confused. Arthur kisses him, and it’s rough and needy. Arthur’s fingers are in his hair, tugging him closer and all Alfred can do is kiss back. He swear he hears Arthur say “don’t stop” but he simply assumes it means not to stop kissing him, which he doesn’t until Arthur’s the one to break away.

“You better take him back to the airport,” Arthur says quietly, still looking very vulnerable and confused. 

He almost wants to say he’ll just call a cab, because now is a time when he thinks it’s better not to leave him alone, but instead he nods.

“Yeah, I better.”

He gives Arthur one last look as he leaves the room and finds Gilbert waiting in the hallway, looking no worse for the wear. So apparently Gilbert and Arthur didn’t try to kill each other during the brief time they were alone, at least. Alfred just gives Gilbert a look as he heads for the door and Gilbert follows. The silence is tense on the way to the airport, but Alfred doesn’t care. He’s more amazed that he doesn’t reach over and strangle Gilbert. Normally he’d walk Gilbert to security, but he merely pulls up to the drop-off curb and waits.

“So I guess this is it, eh? I’ll understand if you block me or something,” Gilbert says as he swings his bag onto his shoulder and opens the car door.

Alfred squares his jaw. He’d like to do a whole lot more than just block him, but it’s not in his nature to hate people. Even when they’ve wronged him like Gilbert has. He closes his eyes and sighs, then fixes the most pleasant expression he can muster onto his face.

“Nah, just means I’m going to kick your ass even more thoroughly from now on. So much that even your stupid cheating won’t be able to match up.”

Gilbert smirks and climbs out of the car. “See you later then, Jones.”

“Yeah, sure.”

His expression fades once again into a somber one as Gilbert shuts the car door and disappears into the terminal, then he’s off on the road again. Part of him is still upset that Gilbert knows more about Arthur’s past than he does, but there’s another part of him that knows that that’s merely temporary. Arthur, slowly but surely, is trusting him with his wounded heart, and how could he betray that trust by demanding more than what he’s given?

He finds Arthur with another cup of tea in the kitchen when he walks in the door, holding it delicately in his bandaged hand, and Alfred promises himself he won’t find ways to make Arthur hurt himself like that anymore.

“Arthur,” he says, and Arthur looks up at him.

* * *

He’s still not really sure how they’d wound up like this, but he’s past the point of caring. Arthur’s legs are wrapped around his waist and his fingers are tangled in his hair, and they’re kissing as Alfred carries him and stumbles down the hallway to their bedroom. Somewhere along the line Arthur’s shirt was unbuttoned, and Alfred is frustrated that he’s still wearing his t-shirt and can’t feel Arthur’s skin against his. He turns around and walks backwards, so as not to accidentally slam Arthur against the wall (even if the prospect of sex against a wall is a tempting one), and blindly reaches for the door behind him. When his palm hits a flat wooden surface, he pushes the door inwards and carefully backs up. He has to break the kiss so he can look behind Arthur and find their bed, and Arthur nips at his neck as he shuffles over and climbs onto the bed, taking Arthur with him.

Alfred pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it to the side, then pauses to regard Arthur. He half hopes that Arthur will flip them over, because he can’t deny that he really wants Arthur to take him, but beneath him, Arthur is reaching for him, eyes dark with desire.

“Need you,” he says breathlessly, and that’s all Alfred needs to hear.

Gilbert, or anyone else for that matter, could never make Arthur feel like this. He’s confident about that. The rest of their clothes are discarded and their movements are frenzied, but Alfred still remembers to be gentle, like Arthur prefers. Arthur likes him gentle. He grasps one of Arthur’s hands, twining their fingers and it’s _his_ name that Arthur is gasping out, so it doesn’t matter who he was with before. He can’t imagine that anyone loved Arthur like this and wished for his happiness instead of thinking ill of him.

And afterwards, he knows that no one could ever see Arthur like this, in a rare unguarded moment where it’s plain as day that he’s in love and he’s content to be so. It’s enough. He’ll make sure it’s enough.

Arthur whispers “don’t stop” again, barely loud enough to hear, and this time Alfred understands as he pulls Arthur against his chest.

* * *

_And here's the scene from Gilbert and Arthur's confrontation:_

* * *

Arthur is sulking, he knows he is, but he’d rather sulk in his room than have to face Gilbert again. He’s afraid of what would come out if he did, but he’s also afraid of what is coming out when he’s not there to damage control. But the entire weekend seems to have consisted simply of those obnoxious video games, so perhaps his paranoid is unfounded. Gilbert is leaving shortly, at any rate, so he shouldn’t have anything to worry about soon enough.

As if to prove him wrong, Arthur hears Alfred’s raised voice coming from their second bedroom, and he frowns at how very upset he sounds. He places his embroidery hoop on the bed beside him and decides it’s time to intervene. If Alfred is upset, that can only mean he’s being told thing he shouldn’t know. Not yet.

“…Kirkland is one fucked up kid, I’ll tell you that,” Arthur hears as he steps into the doorway of the second bedroom. He can only guess what preceded that statement, and he’s hit with a wave of panic and fury. It’s the fury that wins out over anything else, and he practically shakes with it.

“ _Beilschmidt_ ,” he says before Gilbert or Alfred can say anything else. Both turn to look at him, and Alfred’s expression makes his heart ache, but he’s more concerned with whether or not he should brutally murder Gilbert, damn the consequences.

“Arthur…” Alfred says, and Arthur looks away from him to where Gilbert is smirking.

“Get out, Alfred,” he says with a tone that he knows leaves no room for argument. Thankfully Alfred slips out of the room so he won’t have to witness Gilbert’s almost inevitable death.

“What’s up, Kirkland? Missing the old days? Kinda sick that you want to do it with Jones in the next room, but I guess I can oblige you,” Gilbert says with a leer that makes Arthur’s stomach turn. Once upon a time such a thing might have been their own twisted version of foreplay, but that was a long time ago.

“Touch me and I’ll rip them off,” Arthur snaps. Gilbert snorts and his smirk widens.

“That’s right. You’ve gone soft playing house with Mr. Wonderful, eh?”

“What did you tell him?” Arthur asks instead, choosing not to acknowledge Gilbert’s observation of his relationship with Alfred.

Gilbert shrugs. “Nothing. Just that you’re fucked up, but you already know that very well.”

From the other room, both jump at the sound of something being slammed against the wall. For a second Arthur stares in the direction of where their bedroom lies and he feels sick with guilt. Does Alfred feel betrayed? Is he angry? Is this the end?

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing telling him _anything_?” Arthur asks, hoping that his desperation isn’t seeping into his voice. 

Gilbert shrugs again, but this time his smirk fades into something like a stern look. “Jones is so hilariously naïve it’s embarrassing, but he’s a good kid. Got a bright future ahead of him.”

Realization dawns on Arthur and he stiffens. “And you think I’m going to ruin it, is that it?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Arthur grinds his teeth and just holds Gilbert’s stern look for a few tense moments. He hates showing weakness, especially in front of an asshole like him, but if he doesn’t say anything, does that mean he’ll just tell Alfred everything? He doesn’t want Alfred to know the truth yet. 

“You should know as well as I do that he’s the only good thing to ever happen in my life. Why would I ruin that?” he finally asks and keeps his gaze steady.

“Your track record doesn’t lie,” Gilbert replies, his smirk returning slightly.

“…I love him,” Arthur says, as if justifying his actions. But he knows that Gilbert is right. After all, didn’t he hurt Alfred that night after he ran into his mother? Didn’t he refuse to tell Alfred the truth of where he’d been all night the following day, too?

But Gilbert looks surprised that he’d actually that out loud, then his expression goes sarcastic again. “I know you do.”

“So I don’t give a shit about what you think. Mind your own fucking business,” Arthur snaps and gives Gilbert one last cold glare as he leaves the room. Now comes the harder part of facing Alfred.


	9. Hold On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred pushes himself past his breaking point and falls ill, leaving Arthur at a loss of how to take care of him.

Once again, it’s darkness that Arthur finds when he opens his eyes, but it’s become such a common occurrence that it doesn’t even phase him anymore. He’ll just have a smoke and either stay awake or go back to bed. It’s a routine that occurs several nights a week.

What _is_ different this time is that there are no warm arms wrapped around him. No almost too heavy body sprawled on top of him. No light snoring in his ear or legs inadvertently kicking him into consciousness. No Alfred.

Arthur groans as he rolls over to where Alfred should be sleeping, only to find pulled back sheets and a vacated mattress. In addition, however, is a pale light coming from the direction of Alfred’s desk that is slightly obstructed by a silhouette, along with the sound of furious typing. 

“Alfred?” Arthur asks groggily and sits up in bed. The typing immediately stops.

“Crap, did I wake you? Go back to sleep, all right? I’ll just go sit on the couch, it’s no big deal…” Alfred replies and the pale light vanishes, presumably from Alfred closing his laptop. 

Arthur looks over at the clock and then frowns back at where the shadowed form of Alfred is heading for the door.

“It’s four in the morning,” Arthur says in a tone that wonders what the hell Alfred thinks he’s doing.

“I know. Got a final today, and I want to get some more studying in while I have the chance.”

Alfred’s silhouette disappears into the hallway before Arthur can respond, and he lets out a frustrated noise as he throws his head back against his pillow. All Alfred has been doing for the past few days is study, like a man possessed. Thus their interactions have been limited to clipped exchanges in the morning and whenever they both get home. No kissing, no cuddling, no sex. But Alfred was keeping his studying to the day time. He spent extra time at the library and commandeered the kitchen table when at home, but he always went to bed at an reasonable time.

So this studying at four in the morning thing really bothers Arthur, but he has a feeling that any comments on the matter will fall on deaf ears. Alfred has already made it clear that his finals will determine his academic future. If he fails, he might lose his scholarships and financial aid, and then he’ll be forced to go home because his parents won’t help. But running himself ragged trying to study will probably be just as bad as not studying.

Arthur briefly contemplates getting up and dragging Alfred back to bed whether he likes it or not, then lying on top of him so he won’t be able to move without Arthur knowing, but he already knows that Alfred won’t have any of it. They’ll probably just wind up angry at each other if he tries. So Arthur tucks his head back against his pillow and falls asleep waiting for Alfred to come back.

* * *

As if Arthur wasn’t already feeling stressed, he’s now in charge of watching a new girl. A student, though not at Alfred’s school, who he thinks should really be up in front training to be a cashier instead of a stocker. Feliks would no doubt love to fawn over her, pigtails and all. Exchange fashion secrets or something. Better than her staying with him, when they’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot and he’s been dubbed “eyebrows bastard” by her.

She looks up and notices him staring at her, so she scowls and sticks her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes and looks away, wondering if it would be possible to pawn her off on Heracles instead without running the risk of losing his job.

“If you stack the boxes like that, they’re going to fall on you, Angelique,” he says flatly, and he can almost hear her bristling, even without looking at her.

“No one asked you!” she shouts in a way that says she’s been caught doing something wrong, but doesn’t want to admit to it.

“Yes, well, you seem to have already forgotten that I’m in charge of you, so you’re obligated to listen to me,” he says with a smirk as he turns around. He walks past her and ruffles her hair, and she makes an irritated noise and swats at his hand.

As soon as there’s enough distance between them, Arthur frowns. Alfred was already gone when he woke up that morning, and he can’t help but feel slightly offended as a result. They always eat breakfast together, if nothing else. That, and he has no way of knowing if Alfred ever went to sleep. For all he knows, Alfred has been awake since some odd hour of the morning.

Alfred has finals all week, and so Arthur has a feeling that he’ll be seeing very little of him, and that Alfred will be cutting corners as far as sleep goes the whole time.

Sure enough, when Arthur returns home he finds Alfred sprawled out, asleep, across open textbooks and charts, with his glasses skewed and his arms folded like a pillow beneath him. Arthur runs a hand through his hair in exasperation and then reaches out to shake Alfred’s shoulder. He wants Alfred to sleep, of course, but he’d rather it be in a bed where he won’t wake up with stiff muscles later.

“Alfred,” he says gently as he shakes Alfred’s shoulder. Alfred snorts, then blinks blearily for a few moments before he snaps upright.

“Shit, what time is it?!” Alfred says in a panic and looks at his watch. His eyes widen and then he hurriedly gathers up his materials. “Damn it, damn it, I’m late.”

Alfred shoves everything into his bag and starts heading for the door, but Arthur grabs his sleeve. “Where are you going? You need to get some slee-”

“I have to study, I’ll be back.” Alfred pulls his arm out of Arthur’s grasp and disappears out the door. Arthur stares at the closed door for a few moments, then he slams his fist against the wall in frustration.

It’s almost 2:30 in the morning when Alfred comes stumbling in while Arthur sits in bed and waits for his return. He looks terrible, exhausted and run ragged, and so when Arthur pulls him into bed, Alfred doesn’t protest. He’s asleep almost the instant his head hits the pillow.

* * *

The rest of the week continues as thus. Alfred staying awake until early in the morning, or else waking up just as early. He goes through pot of coffee after pot of coffee, and Arthur barely sees him at all. When they’re together, and Arthur tries to insist that Alfred get some sleep, he’s ignored. All Arthur can do is count the days until it’s Friday and Alfred’s finals will be over. Then he’ll sit on Alfred if need be to get him to sleep.

When Friday afternoon rolls around, Arthur’s relief that everything will be over for awhile is quashed when he hears a terrible crash come from the general idea of their front door. He drops his book and runs out to find Alfred picking himself up off the floor and clutching at his head.

“Ha ha, there’s a floor there, huh?” Alfred says with a tired laugh as he stands upright. He wobbles and nearly falls over again, but leans against the wall before he topples over.

Arthur stands frozen for a moment, just watching as Alfred struggles to stand straight, then he finally moves forward and slips an arm around him. Alfred leans a little heavily against him, and Arthur almost buckles underneath him, but he manages to support Alfred’s weight and start moving towards the bedroom.

“Just need a little nap, then I have to go to work,” Alfred mumbles, and Arthur scowls.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you have to sleep…” Arthur trails off as Alfred’s head falls onto his shoulder and brushes against his cheek. His skin is burning hot, and Arthur gapes. “Alfred, you have a fever!”

“Nah, s’okay. Be good as new after a short nap and some coffee,” Alfred insists, but he’s so unfocused that Arthur suddenly feels a little sick. 

He manages to get Alfred into bed and removes most of his clothes so he can rest comfortably, then brushes the back of his hand against Alfred’s forehead. It’s feverishly hot, just as he’d feared. He retracts his hand and mentally kicks himself. This whole week he’s just let Alfred do as he pleased without a fight, and this is what happened. Alfred is sick. Now that he’s noticed, every other symptom seems to make itself known with a vengeance, and Arthur hates himself for letting Alfred run himself into the ground.

“What’s the number for your job? I’m calling you in sick,” Arthur asks and fishes around in Alfred’s coat pocket for his phone.

“You don’t have to, gonna go in after-”

“Alfred. What is the number?” he says firmly, and Alfred stares at him blankly, then mumbles the number. Although there’s some skepticism that he’s really Alfred’s “roommate”, he manages to get Alfred out of a shift, but then he’s struck with the realization that he has no idea what to do.

Whenever he was sick before, he’d just sort of put up with it. There might be the rare instance where one of his brothers would get him some medicine or make him soup, but for the most part he simply had to suffer through illness. Meanwhile, he has a feeling that Alfred is used to being taken care of when he’s sick. His parents probably did everything to make sure he was comfortable and well cared for. He’ll be just as clueless as to how to take care of himself as Arthur is.

Arthur brushes Alfred’s hair out of his eyes, and Alfred stares up at him. Arthur tries to smile as he unconsciously strokes Alfred’s cheek.

“Go to sleep,” he says gently, and Alfred’s eyelids are already fluttering as he nods. Arthur carefully pulls off his glasses as Alfred turns his head against the pillow and falls asleep.

Arthur watches him for awhile to make sure he’ll stay asleep, then he quietly leaves the room so Alfred can rest.

* * *

Alfred is worse in the morning, now complaining of a terrible headache and all over pains, as well as congestion. Arthur recalls a conversation they had some weeks ago when Arthur mentioned getting a flu shot, and Alfred had assured him that he’d already gotten one, too. Now it’s becoming clear that that wasn’t the case, and Alfred has probably fallen ill with the flu.

Alfred should see a doctor about it, but they have no way of getting there. Arthur can’t drive, and Alfred can’t be expected to do so in his condition. Taking the bus would take too long, and they’d run the risk of infecting too many other people if they did. Calling for an ambulance would be a waste of resources, and he doesn’t think he has enough money for a taxi.

It’s as he’s trying to justify the expense of calling for a taxi that he remembers another possible solution to his problem. He places a damp cloth on Alfred’s forehead and wonders if it wouldn’t be the best solution.

Up two floors and down the hallway are Tino and Berwald. He followed Tino one day to find out which flat they’re in so he could avoid them whenever possible. They’re too closely associated with his mother for his comfort, and he doesn’t want to hear again about what a good person she is now, so they should see each other again.

But Tino seems to be a nice person, as far as he can tell. If he asked, he has a feeling that he’d agree to help him get Alfred to a doctor.

“My head hurts,” Alfred whines, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts. He looks down at Alfred, whose labored breathing makes Arthur feel guilty all over again, and he manages a small smile.

“I know. Go back to sleep, all right?” 

“Tired of sleeping,” Alfred mumbles, but he closes his eyes anyway.

Arthur quietly slips away again, and without really thinking he leaves the flat and pauses in the hallway. He may not want to face them, but Alfred seeing a doctor is more important than his fear of having to confront his mother. He didn’t stop Alfred from making himself sick, so it’s only right that he do everything he can to make sure Alfred gets better.

Regardless, he stands outside their door staring at it and trying once again to justify the expense of a taxi. He finally closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. He flinches away and hopes that perhaps they won’t be home and he’ll have to call for a taxi anyway. Despite his wishes, however, the door opens and Berwald appears.

Had Berwald been one of the policemen to bring Arthur into the station years ago, he no doubt would have confessed to everything and been thrown in jail for the rest of his life. Berwald’s gaze is terrifying, piercing through him as if seeing everything, and Arthur just cowers underneath it while they stare at each other in silence.

“I…I wanted to speak with Tino,” Arthur finally chokes out. Berwald stares at him for a moment longer, then nods and ushers him inside.

A small white dog approaches him and sniffs disapprovingly at his shoes, then trots over to where Tino is coming out of the kitchen.

“Oh…Arthur, wasn’t it? Have you changed your mind?” Tino asks pleasantly, and Arthur tries to focus on him and not that Berwald is standing behind him and staring at him.

“No, that’s not it,” Arthur says quickly and shakes his head. “I wanted to ask you a favor. My…roommate is sick and needs to see a doctor, but I don’t know how to drive, so I have no way of getting him there.”

“Oh! Well, Berwald and I would be happy to help you, wouldn’t we?” Tino replies and smiles at the man standing behind Arthur. Arthur stiffens as Berwald moves around him to stand next to Tino, where he nods and makes a small noise of agreement, and Arthur has to wonder if what Peter said was true. These two are married, despite how mismatched they seem to be. But then again, he and Alfred aren’t exactly matched either, are they?

“I appreciate it,” Arthur says and tries not to look too impatient as he backs towards the door again. “Then, if we could hurry…”

“Let’s go,” Berwald says and Arthur nearly jumps at the sound. He quickly nods and hurries out the door, so he can lead the way back to the flat where Alfred is hopefully staying in bed and not trying to do anything he can’t handle. Thankfully Alfred is still in bed when they get there, and he’s too groggy to object to being moved.

Alfred, who is always so strong and sturdy, looks weak and limp as Berwald eases him out of bed and onto his feet, then, after Arthur puts on his coat and glasses, hooks an arm around his shoulders to support him. Alfred doesn’t even seem to notice that someone else is handling him as they slowly make their way to Tino’s car. 

Alfred comes to his senses slightly once they’re all in the car and on their way, and his eyes fix blearily on Arthur’s.

“What’s going on?” Alfred asks, and Arthur reaches out a hand to touch his face. Alfred relaxes and closes his eyes again in response.

“We’re going to the doctor because you’re a daft fool who pushed himself too hard,” he says quietly. He looks up and sees Tino watching them in the rearview mirror, and Arthur can tell by his eyes that he’s smiling, even if he can’t see his mouth. He scowls in response and goes back to watching Alfred. He honestly doesn’t care at this point if Tino knows what their true relationship is, he just wants to confirm what Alfred is sick with so he can be properly taken care of.

There aren’t many people in the urgent care waiting room when they arrive, so Alfred doesn’t have to sit for very long before he’s lead away by a nurse. Then all Arthur can do is sit and wait.

“You love him,” Tino says, and it’s not a question. Arthur’s scowl deepens, and he refuses to look at Tino.

“So?” Arthur says in reply, as if challenging Tino to find something wrong with such a thing. There’s no point in denying it, and he doesn’t have the energy to do so anyway.

“It’s a nice feeling, isn’t it?” Tino replies. Arthur finally looks at him, and he has a feeling that Tino would like to make a comment somewhere along the lines that his mother would like to meet Alfred, too. Thankfully if that’s what he’s truly thinking, he never says as much.

Berwald sits with a group of children reading a storybook while their mother looks on warily, and Arthur sits silently next to Tino until finally Alfred reappears.

Arthur’s suspicions are confirmed, and Alfred has the flu. He’s given the lecture about keeping Alfred as isolated as possible, and that he needs rest and lots of fluids, and symptoms that require emergency care, then they’re on their way.

“Let us know if you need us again,” Tino says with a smile as he and Berwald leave the flat. 

“Thank you. I…I mean it,” Arthur says with burning cheeks and he has to look away for a moment as he says it. Tino’s smile brightens, and although his expression doesn’t change at all, Berwald nods.

“Take good care of him.” Tino gives one last nod as he and Berwald turn to leave. Arthur closes the door behind them and sighs. Now comes the really hard part.

Alfred is more coherent when Arthur returns to their bedroom, and his eyes easily focus on Arthur.

“Who were those guys?” Alfred asks, and Arthur shakes his head.

“Never mind that now, I’ve got some medicine that should help with your headache.”

Alfred doesn’t protest as Arthur fiddles with the medicine bottle with its warnings about liver damage in the case of an overdose and pours out a couple of pills. He hands the pills and a glass of water to Alfred, who tosses them back and swallows them with some difficulty.

“You think I can move the TV in here so I can play some games?” Alfred asks brightly, although it’s not nearly the level of sunshine brilliance he usually exudes. 

Arthur purses his lips and shakes his head. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Please?” Alfred asks with a pathetic attempt at a sad puppy face. Regardless, it has its intended effect.

“I’ll help you get set up in there instead, how about that?” Arthur asks, trying to reach a compromise, which Alfred agrees to. Alfred winces in pain as he eases out of bed and follows Arthur to the sofa, where he’s bundled in blankets with a large glass of water nearby.

He really is hopeless, Arthur thinks as Alfred tries to focus on his video game while sniffling and wincing when he moves around too much. 

“I’m going to take your doctor’s note to the university and get some more supplies for you. Please don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” Arthur says and Alfred mumbles an agreement, never taking his eyes off the TV screen. Arthur sighs and pulls on his jacket again, giving Alfred one last glance as he heads for the door.

As expected, Arthur gets plenty of skeptical looks when he arrives at the bookstore where Alfred works to drop off the doctor’s note excusing him from work for a few days, but Arthur doesn’t bother to hide his irritation at being looked at in such a way. They’re just lucky he’s not quite the vengeful bastard he used to be and won’t do anything in retaliation.

He stops by the grocery store to see if he can manage a few days off so he can take care of Alfred, then buys some foodstuffs and more medicine.

Alfred is asleep again when Arthur returns, and so Arthur just adjusts him into a more comfortable position on the sofa until he wakes up and can be moved back to the bed.

Arthur winds up taking a couple of the pain relievers himself as he hopes that Alfred’s recovery will be a quick one.

* * *

Taking care of Alfred is a learning experience for both of them. Arthur has to be careful about making sure Alfred gets the care he needs while taking care of himself at the same time, and Alfred has to make sure he’s as accommodating as possible so Arthur doesn’t have to push himself. So that means despite how much he complains about how disgusting Arthur’s soup is, he eats it anyway. When Arthur tells him to go to sleep, he goes to sleep. Arthur wonders if it’s because he’s too groggy and incoherent most of the time to protest.

Arthur still winds up exhausted, however, after a few days of looking after Alfred with no signs of improvement. This whole thing is more than he’s used to, and that Alfred isn’t getting better just seems to prove that Arthur is not capable of taking care of him.

It’s after helping Alfred with a bath (despite Alfred’s protests that he didn’t need help like that) that Arthur finally hits the wall. 

“Go to sleep, Alfred,” he mumbles, although it’s his own eyelids that are drooping. He sits in the chair he’s been using next the bed and folds his arms on the mattress. He’ll just put his head down for a moment, then he’ll go make Alfred some more soup. He puts his head onto his folded arms and closes his eyes.

“Arthur…”

He swears he feels Alfred’s fingers in his hair, but it might just be his imagination as he gives into the temptation of sleep.

* * *

He’s in the bed when he wakes up, under the sheets with most of his clothes removed. His eyes snap wide open when he realizes that Alfred isn’t in the bed next to him.

“Alfred?!” he calls in a panic as he throws back the sheets and looks around for his missing lover.

“Morning!” Alfred says brightly and appears in the doorway looking more coherent and cheerful than he has since before his studying tirade began. Despite this, Arthur rushes him and touches his forehead.

“Your fever is gone,” Arthur says in disbelief as he pulls back his hand.

“Yep, and I have you to thank for it!” Alfred replies and continues to smile.

“You’re a fool,” Arthur says quietly. Alfred’s smile falls off his face as Arthur clarifies. “If you hadn’t run yourself ragged in the first place, none of this would have been necessary.”

Alfred’s smile returns slightly as he takes one of Arthur’s hands in his. “I know, I’m sorry. I was just really worried about failing and having to abandon all this.”

Arthur doesn’t say a word, so Alfred squeezes his hand. “Thanks for not giving up on me, though.”

“Of course not,” Arthur says and averts his face so Alfred can’t see the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

“All righty, well, I’m going to make a _real_ breakfast, so I don’t have to eat your crappy soup anymore!” Alfred says and disappears into the hallway.

“Go to hell,” Arthur snaps in reply and follows after him. “Besides, I don’t believe you should be touching food when you’re not completely well. No need to spread germs.”

“Whaaat? I want some pancakes, though!” Alfred cries in disbelief and stops abruptly.

“Then I’ll make you some,” Arthur says simply and pushes past Alfred into the kitchen.

Alfred mumbles protests, but sinks into a chair and sits with his arms folded. Arthur rolls his eyes and refuses to let that Alfred is pouting convince him to let Alfred have his way. He’s seen Alfred make pancakes enough times that he should be able to do it himself. So he says, but what he winds up making looks less like pancakes and more like plates.

He places some of them in front of Alfred, who doesn’t stop pouting, and Arthur sighs. He puts his hand on Alfred’s cheek and pushes his head back so he can bend forward and lightly kiss him. Alfred’s scowl melts into a look that is a mix of happiness and disbelief.

“What happened to germs?” Alfred asks with his mouth quirking into a smile.

“I’ll risk it,” Arthur says and looks away. Alfred chuckles and starts picking at Arthur’s questionable breakfast.

“Good thing I won’t be sick for Christmas, that would really suck!” Alfred says brightly as he shoves his fork in his mouth, then cringes as he swallows the bite.

Ah yes, Christmas. Arthur hasn’t asked, and Alfred hasn’t made any indications that he’ll be going home for Christmas like he did for Thanksgiving. Not that it will matter too much, since he’s never really celebrated Christmas either. He’ll just have to make it through another separation, although he’s certain he won’t have Peter to distract him this time. He’ll have to make a preemptive trip to the library to get enough books to keep him occupied for an extended period of time.

“I’m looking forward to us celebrating our first Christmas together,” Alfred says, and Arthur snaps his head up to look at him with wide eyes. Alfred smiles shyly back, and Arthur has to smile a little as well as he takes a tentative bite of his cereal. 

Although he shouldn’t be getting his hopes up so much, Arthur can’t help but think of celebrating his first real Christmas. Already he’s thinking of Christmas trees and stockings even as he tells Alfred to stop being so dramatic and eat his pancakes.


	10. Iggy and the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur agrees to let Alfred adopt a cat, but when Alfred lavishes all of his attention on the new pet, he starts to get a little jealous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't add too much to the story overall, but I feel it's important to include the chapter where they get the cats, since they show up in the story from here on out. :)

A sea of white greets Arthur when he leaves work, and he unconsciously pulls his coat around himself in response. Apparently those heavy snowfall warnings he’d been hearing over the radio that morning weren’t just a joke. Of course it happens on the day that Alfred is also working and won’t be picking him up.

He pulls on his gloves and ties his scarf around his neck, then braces himself for a long wait for the bus in deep snow and cold.

“Hey, eyebrows bastard!”

Arthur pauses and turns to see Angelique following him into the parking lot. He rolls his eyes and resumes walking to the sidewalk that will lead him to his bus stop.

“May I help you, Angelique?” 

“You’re not really going to walk in this, are you?” she says and runs to catch up with him.

“That’s what the bus is for,” he replies, vaguely wondering why she even cares when she hates him so much.

“But what if your bus is late and you’re stuck on the street standing in the cold?” she asks, and Arthur finally turns to raise an eyebrow at her. Her cheeks flush and she looks away. “Not that I really care, but I wouldn’t want to have to explain to the boss that you were an idiot who died from the cold!”

“And what do you propose I do?” he asks impatiently. Of course he _could_ always find a coffee shop or something and ask to use their phone so he could call Alfred and ask to be picked up there later, but Alfred will already have to drive home in all of that snow, so there’s no need for him to go out of his way to pick up Arthur. So the bus is the best option, even if it will be a long wait.

“Well… I could always give you a ride,” Angelique says, and Arthur’s eyes widen at the same time that her cheeks darken in color. She’s still looking away from him, so she doesn’t notice his surprise, giving him ample time to make his expression impassive again.

Of course he’s surprised by this unexpected turn of events, why wouldn’t he be? She’s constantly calling him a bastard or a jerk, among other things, and mentioning how she’d much rather be supervised by Heracles and that she hates him. The way she’s blushing makes him wonder, but her offer of a ride is a more pressing matter. It’s definitely cold, and it’s still snowing, so there’s no reason for him to turn down a ride. It will save both him and Alfred trouble.

“I suppose,” he replies after a time, and she finally looks at him again. He stares blankly at her, and she looks irritated before she motions for him to follow her. Arthur sees Feliks exiting as well, and Arthur chooses not to think too much of the look he’s given as he follows Angelique to her car. A knowing sort of look, like Feliks has found something to go “oh my _god_ ” and motion emphatically about. Arthur wonders what Feliks would think if he ever saw Alfred dropping Arthur off and leaning over to kiss him goodbye before he can get out of the car. Feliks would probably explode, but he’d also likely tell everyone, and that simply can’t happen.

“Right here, eyebrows,” Angelique says, and he nearly falls over onto her car before he catches himself. He carefully regains his composure as she climbs into the driver’s seat and he seats himself on the passenger’s side. “Eyebrows” without the bastard part reminds him too much of Alfred’s affectionate use of the name in high school, but he refuses to believe that she means it in a friendly way.

He gives her directions to the flat he shares with his…roommate, because he can’t tell her that Alfred is his lover/boyfriend/everything, and they sit in silence for a time while she concentrates on the road. Arthur looks out the window at the falling snow and hopes that Alfred won’t drive recklessly or spend too much time concentrating on the radio when he should be looking at the road instead.

“So how come you’re not in school yourself?” she finally says, and Arthur blinks back into focus.

“I don’t see the point,” he says, not looking away from the window.

“You really want to be stuck stocking groceries for the rest of your life?” she asks, and he shrugs, still not looking at her. He hears her scoff, then they fall silent again. Alfred had asked the same thing. That he could easily get his GED and he’d be accepted into whatever school he wanted without issue because he’s so intelligent. Alfred really thinks too much of him. He fishes around for his cigarettes and pulls one out to light up.

“Hey! No smoking!” Angelique snaps, and Arthur finally turns to look at her. He rolls down the window and blows the smoke outside, ignoring the cold wind and snow that assault his face, then he gives her a look that dares her to tell him he can’t smoke. She scowls and mutters “stupid eyebrows bastard” under her breath as she turns her attention back to the road.

When she pulls up near the front entrance of his building, she mutters an awkward goodbye that he acknowledges with a simple wave of his hand. He doesn’t realize until after she’s driven away that he forgot to say thank you, but it’s not as though he won’t see her again in a few days anyway. So he doesn’t spare her another glance as he dashes inside the building.

Once inside the flat, Arthur quickly retrieves the kettle to make himself a cup of tea and glances at the digital numbers on the microwave. Alfred should be home in about an hour, assuming he’s not held up by traffic or weather, so Arthur will have to pass the time somehow.

Unknown to Alfred, Arthur has taken up watching old reruns of shows like Law and Order and CSI and the like. Amateurs, he calls some of the criminals. But they’re criminals on TV, and the good guys must always win in the end, of course, so naturally the criminals will inevitably fail in the end.

He’s watching yet another high speed chase that will probably end with the criminal’s fiery demise when he hears the door being unlocked. He quickly switches off the TV and grabs his “adult entertainment” book he’s been reading lately. Alfred appears shortly after, still shaking snow out of his hair. His gaze immediately falls on Arthur, and he visibly relaxes.

“You made it home all right, thank god,” Alfred says as he pulls off his coat to put in the hallway closet. It’s out of habit that Arthur shifts on the sofa to accommodate Alfred, who comes over to drape himself around Arthur. Of course, what better way to spend a cold, snowy day than curled up with the one you love?

“You’re off this weekend, right?” Alfred asks, and Arthur nods the affirmative against his forehead. “I think we need to get you a cellphone. That way we can call or text each other on days like today to make sure everything’s all right.”

“I suppose,” Arthur agrees, and then they sit in a comfortable silence for a minute while Arthur reads .

“I was also thinking…” Alfred starts to say, and Arthur waits for him to continue. “There’s a pet adoption event this weekend, too. Maybe we could check it out?”

Arthur freezes. A month ago he struggled to take care of Alfred when he was sick, he can’t imagine actually being responsible for another living thing’s wellbeing. He’d fail miserably. Then again, Alfred would probably be better at that than him, and it’s not a guarantee that Alfred actually _will_ adopt a pet, so he supposes he can agree to go. It’s not as though Alfred is suggesting that they adopt a child (because Arthur dreads the day that _that_ is ever brought up), and the thought of Alfred getting bowled over by a herd of puppies is appealingly sweet.

“All right,” he finally says, and he knows that Alfred is grinning like an idiot without having to look at him.

“Awesome, this will be fun, right? Right,” Alfred says brightly. Arthur closes his book and pushes Alfred away from him slightly so he can kiss him. On a cold day, he’d rather be tangled up in Alfred, not thinking about anything, especially not the prospect of a shoe chewing puppy who depends on him to live.

* * *

Alfred is like a puppy himself on Sunday morning, wagging his figurative tail and squirming impatiently while he waits for Arthur to get ready to go, and Arthur is thankful that it’s not another snowy day as Alfred drives a bit recklessly. A mobile for Arthur is picked out quickly, just a simple pay as you go phone, then they’re on their way to the animal shelter.

Arthur rolls his eyes as Alfred acts like a kid in a candy store, making ridiculous noises at every animal he sees and flitting past cage after cage. Arthur stays back and takes his time looking in cages at terrified animals who will probably never be adopted. He almost feels sorry for them.

“Hey, Arthur! Come look at this cat!” Alfred calls. Arthur looks up from the old dog he’d been watching to see Alfred quickly approaching him. Arthur squawks in surprise when Alfred grabs his hand and pulls him back the way he came. Arthur stares in shock at their clasped hands and then looks around, afraid someone will see them, but then Alfred releases his hand just as quickly as he grabbed it.

“Look! Doesn’t this cat look like he has eyebrows like yours?” Alfred says. Arthur looks in the cage to see an irritated looking, mostly white cat staring back at them with wide eyes. Its ears are folded, and part of its face and its entire tail are colored orange. Although it pains Arthur to admit it, the cat really does appear to have eyebrows like his. Thick and bushy and impossible to ignore. 

“Your name is Iggy? Hi, Iggy!!” Alfred says excitedly, looking at the tag on the cage and then back at the cat inside, who shifts backwards away from the strange people staring at it.

“I don’t think he likes all this attention, Alfred,” Arthur says flatly, but Alfred ignores him and pokes his fingers inside the cage. When Alfred doesn’t move on to another animal and continues in vain to get the cat to react to him, Arthur shifts uncomfortably. “You want to adopt this cat, don’t you?”

Alfred snaps up to look at him with wide eyes, and Arthur blushes hotly.

“Can we?!” Alfred says, his face steadily lighting up like their nearly failed Christmas tree.

“I don’t know how well I could take care of it, but I suppose-”

“Did you hear that, Iggy?! You’re going to come home with us! Let me go get one of the employees!” Alfred exclaims and then dashes off. The cat seems to relax slightly when the loud boy is no longer trying to poke at him. Arthur huffs and shakes his head.

“You’ll learn to love him,” he says, then mentally kicks himself for talking to a cat, as if it will understand him and respond.

What happens when Alfred returns with an employee is a whirlwind of paperwork and agreements, but eventually they wind up with a box containing a very terrified cat. Alfred insists on stopping at the closest pet store so he can pick out a collar and tag, food and water bowls, a variety of toys, among other necessary supplies. Alfred is beaming the whole time, so Arthur can’t bring himself to mention that they should watch what they spend.

But once they get home, Alfred barely gets Iggy’s collar on before the cat bolts for the bedroom and hides under the bed. Alfred spends most of the evening trying to lure the cat out with toys, treats and pleading while Arthur sets up his new mobile phone. Finally Alfred emerges from the bedroom looking thoroughly dejected. He sits at the kitchen table and pouts most unattractively. Arthur looks up from his phone and clicks his tongue.

“Wouldn’t you be frightened if you were suddenly dropped into a strange new environment?” Arthur asks, but Alfred’s frown just deepens.

“But I saved him! Shouldn’t he love me?” Alfred says and buries his face into his folded arms.

_I_ love you, Arthur almost says, but catches himself before he does. He clears his throat as he turns off the phone.

“He’ll come around,” Arthur says and rolls his eyes at the miserable noise he gets in reply. “Come on to bed.”

Alfred groans, but he gets up and follows. As they get ready for bed, Alfred tries one last time to lure Iggy out from under the bed, but once again it’s to no avail. They settled into bed, and Arthur tries to not make it too apparent that he’s waiting for Alfred to cuddle him like always. To save on their energy bill, they’ve been keeping the heat down as much as possible, so of course Arthur’s been using that as an excuse to stay extra close to Alfred at night. Just like always, Alfred’s expression goes soft as he turns to Arthur and reaches for him, but they’re interrupted by the sudden jingling of a bell. Both turn to look at the foot of the bed, where Iggy meows as he cautiously approaches.

“Oh, Iggy! You came out!” Alfred exclaims and scoops up the cat into his arms. Arthur just blinks as he watches Alfred cuddle the cat, who seems resigned to the fact that his new owner is that type of person. Arthur waits, but Alfred never makes any moves to hold him, so Arthur scowls as he rolls over away from where Alfred continues to cuddle Iggy.

* * *

Alfred continues to coo over Iggy all morning, leaving Arthur to pour himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast, and Arthur is glad that he doesn’t have to work, because he has a feeling that he would have to take the bus since Alfred is so caught up in watching his new cat eat breakfast.

After Iggy is done eating breakfast, Alfred takes him near the sofa and sits on the floor with him, batting around toys in the hopes that Iggy will play with him. Arthur scoffs as he settles himself on the sofa with his book, though he keeps peeking around the side to watch Alfred, who rolls around on the floor trying to get Iggy to react.

“Come here, kitty kitty! Iggy!” Alfred says and waves a feather on a stick in Iggy’s face. Iggy averts his face and bats at the feather in irritation, then readjusts himself in a dignified position. Arthur slowly closes his book and places it to the side, thinking that if Iggy won’t humor Alfred, then he will. He shifts off the sofa and onto his knees, then leans over Alfred. Alfred blinks up at him just as Arthur closes the small distance and kisses him. Alfred makes a small noise of contentment and hooks his arm around Arthur’s neck, pulling him closer. As Arthur starts to deepen the kiss, however, there’s suddenly something sharp in his back. Arthur swears and snaps upwards to see Iggy falling off his back with bristly fur and a swishing tail.

“Aww, are you jealous, Iggy?” Alfred says and reaches around Arthur to pull Iggy to him. Arthur almost swears that Iggy is glaring at him, but then the cat closes his eyes as Alfred pets him and scratches his ears. Arthur climbs to his feet and grabs his book to go sit at the kitchen table instead. He’s not jealous of a cat, of course, he just doesn’t need to see Alfred giving all of his attention to Iggy instead of him.

When the week continues like that, with Alfred cuddling Iggy at night and pouring attention on him, Arthur can’t deny anymore that he’s feeling dejected. He wants to be cuddled and loved like that, damn it, and Alfred never reacts to his silent cues. The last straw, however, comes on Friday night when Alfred comes home carrying a bag of fast food. Arthur grimaces, expecting that his dinner will be reduced to disgusting greasy food. He doesn’t have to worry, he realizes, when Alfred only pulls out two burgers, one of which he places in Iggy’s bowl.

“Here you go, Iggy!” Alfred says brightly. Iggy sniffs at the burger, then looks up at Alfred as if he’s crazy.

“It’s a cat, it won’t eat a burger,” Arthur says irritably, for once miffed that he’s not being offered a burger he wouldn’t eat anyway.

“Ah crap, you’re right. He probably would have preferred a fish sandwich instead, huh?” Alfred replies and affectionately rubs Iggy’s head. 

Arthur squares his jaw as he retrieves a can of soup from one of the cupboards and turns on the stove. Alfred doesn’t even comment on that, which just feeds Arthur’s resolve that he’s been rejected in favor of a cat. He’s being childish and moping, he knows, but he didn’t think that agreeing to let Alfred adopt a cat would work against him like this. Although it’s probably a terrible idea, and it’s just proving how childish he’s acting, Arthur decides that he just needs to get his own cat to pay attention to, then maybe Alfred will understand.

* * *

The animal shelter isn’t as crowded when he goes the following morning, so he can take his time without worrying about a lot of people crowding him to look at the same animal. He has to choose a cat that likes him right away, he decides, so he won’t have to worry about winning it over later.

He looks at cat after cat, wondering if this wasn’t a really bad idea after all, when suddenly a white paw obstructs his vision. He blinks, then follows the paw to its source inside one of the cages. The paw belongs to the most enormous cat he’s ever seen in his life, and it’s meowing at him and reaching both its paws through the bars towards him. It’s white, but with a ring of black fur around its neck, almost like a mane, and a black tail. Most peculiar, though, is the markings around its eyes, like it’s wearing glasses. It almost looks like Alfred, he thinks, then brushes that thought off as ridiculous.

Regardless, he reaches out to touch the cat’s paws, and Arthur nearly jumps at the sudden sound of the cat purring. It’s like an engine, loud and practically shaking the cage. But that’s just like an animal, isn’t it? A little positive attention and they’re happy.

“Ah…good cat,” he says a little awkwardly and reaches into the cage so he can start to scratch the cat’s ears. The cat rolls onto its back and licks Arthur’s hand, and Arthur smiles despite himself.

“I see Hero has taken a shine to you!” a voice says, and Arthur snaps his hand back to himself and finds one of the employees smiling at him. “Wanna take him out and play with him for a bit?”

“Ah, no… Actually, I was thinking of adopting him,” Arthur says awkwardly and blushes. The girl’s smile widens and she reaches for the paperwork on the cage. 

“Great! Well, there’s some stuff you need to fill out first, and then you should be all set!” she says cheerfully, and Arthur notes that she doesn’t seem wary of him at all, which rarely happens. He relaxes slightly as he follows her. 

There’s another whirlwind of paperwork, and then he has another, much heavier, box containing a very loud cat who is obviously not pleased with being boxed up. Arthur uses his new mobile to call a cab. He’ll have to wait for Alfred to take him to a pet store to buy supplies, but he can get Hero home for now. While sitting in the back of the cab, Arthur cautiously opens the box and Hero jumps him almost immediately, purring and rubbing against him. Arthur’s expression softens as he pets the cat, and he begins to understand why Alfred might be so enamored with Iggy, even if he’s still irritated with being ignored all week in favor of the cat.

Alfred is sitting at the kitchen table when Arthur returns, and he looks half irritated and half relieved when Arthur walks in the door.

“Where did you go? You never did give me your phone…number…” Alfred trails off and realizes what Arthur is carrying. The cat inside is meowing insistently, leaving no doubt as to what the box contains. Alfred blinks at the box, then looks up at Arthur in confusion.

“I, ah…wanted my own cat,” Arthur explains and lowers the box to the floor, so he can open it. Hero dashes out and examines his new surroundings excitedly. He purrs at Arthur, then inspects Alfred and jumps on top of whatever he can reach. Alfred watches the cat and then looks, dazed, at Arthur.

“His name is Hero,” Arthur says, his cheeks burning at the look Alfred is giving him. Iggy chooses that moment to make his appearance, and his already folded ears turn backwards at the new cat in their midst. His fur bristles and he hisses, though Hero just lowers himself to the ground, shaking his rear before he tackles Iggy. There’s a blur of fur and hissing, then finally Hero pins Iggy to the floor and smells him while Iggy growls. Hero seems pleased and backs off, and Iggy, for his part, doesn’t run, but he does bat irritably at Hero’s head.

“Ah, I guess they like each other, huh?” Alfred says with a small smile, clearly still expecting a better explanation than what Arthur gave him. Arthur just blushes deeper and watches the cats as Hero tries to tackle Iggy again.

“It seems they do,” Arthur agrees.

“You’re not…jealous of Iggy, are you?” Alfred says, and Arthur knows his silence speaks volumes, because Alfred continues. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was just really excited to have a cat, because my parents never let me have any pets growing up, so I got a little carried away.”

Arthur shrugs, trying to seem impassive, though he really feels ridiculous knowing the truth. Of course he was just being childish, and now they have another enormous cat for their trouble. But he’s already fond of Hero, who, like Alfred, liked him right away unconditionally.

“Guess we’ll have to get Hero his own stuff, huh?” Alfred says, and Arthur voices his agreement. Hero jumps to the top of the television looking very pleased with himself while Iggy stands beneath it and meows up at him, as if scolding the other cat.

After picking up Hero’s own set of supplies, the rest of the day is spent playing with both cats, and Iggy seems more receptive to playing with the toys when he notices how Hero insists on jumping everything that moves, which includes fingers and toes.

Later that night, both cats jump on the bed with them, though this time Arthur carefully plucks Iggy out of the way, ignoring the irritated yowl he gets in reply, before he can cuddle with Alfred, then Arthur pulls Alfred against him. Alfred looks surprised at first, then pleased that he’s the one being cuddled instead of the one doing the cuddling. Arthur blushes and clears his throat awkwardly, but pulls Alfred closer. Behind him, he feels the large form of Hero snuggling against his back, the cat’s loud purring a comforting sound. Another warm body joins Hero’s, Iggy presumably, and Arthur feels that this is much better sleeping arrangement than before. For once, he sleeps through the whole night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Please don't ever make the decision to get a pet out of jealousy/revenge. Arthur fell in love with Hero at first sight (and he and Hero adore each other overall), but that doesn't change that his original plan was not smart.


	11. A Little Less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur celebrates his twentieth birthday and learns that happiness doesn't have to be complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is roughly the halfway point. There are a couple stories that I'm not sure yet if I'll include them, because although they don't add much to the overall plot, they do add context to an important story.

Today is Arthur's twentieth birthday. Twenty. No longer a teenager. It's rather amazing, considering that he probably should have been dead years ago.

He's only awake because Hero wanted breakfast, otherwise he would have been content to stay in bed with Alfred, naked limbs entangled, until Alfred had to get up for school. Those plans were foiled by a paw batting at his face and several insistent meows. Arthur may have wanted to spend more time just sleeping with Alfred, but Hero wouldn't wait for his food.

“I hope you're happy,” Arthur says and glares down at Hero, who devours his breakfast as usual without acknowledging the sarcastic remark.

Of course he can go back to bed, but he can't re-assume that comfortable entanglement without risk of waking Alfred. He could always wake Alfred to spend more time with him, but Alfred has school and needs as much sleep as he can get.

Arthur sighs as he leans back in the chair at the kitchen table and watches as Hero sets out to make himself even more enormous. Alfred had insisted that he take the day off work, and Arthur did, but he wonders what the point of doing so could be. It only means he'll have more time that he'll have to spend distracting himself while Alfred is at school. He supposes he'll get some reading done, or perhaps he'll go for a walk. Maybe he'll go into work anyway and see if he can get a short, last minute shift.

Thinking about work reminds him of something, and he leaves Hero to his breakfast as he goes to retrieve a package out of his coat pocket. Angelique gave it to him a few days earlier, insisting that he wait until his birthday to open it. He remembers telling her about how he was taking his birthday off, and then the silly girl had shown up with the package the next day. He'll never understand what goes through her head.

The package is wrapped in bright paper with a ribbon, but he doesn't bother with finesse as he tears off the paper to reveal the contents inside. His expression goes solemn as he realizes what's inside. A cigarette case, and a very nice one, at that – high quality metal, good craftsmanship. Far too nice a gift from someone he barely pays attention to.

Regardless, Arthur also retrieves his carton of cigarettes and transfers them over to the case, which he shoves back into his coat pocket. The carton he takes to toss into the garbage bin under the sink. As he straightens up, a pair of arms wrap around him from behind and lips press against his neck, then his shoulder. Arthur looks to the side to see Alfred beaming at him.

“Happy birthday,” Alfred says, and Arthur makes a noncommittal noise in reply. “So what do you wanna do today?”

Arthur tenses and extracts himself from Alfred's embrace so he can turn around and give him a look of disbelief. Alfred's eyes are bright and full of mischief, which makes Arthur narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“Don't you have school today?” Arthur asks, and Alfred just smiles more.

“I don't have any labs today, so I can afford to miss one day,” Alfred says, shrugging, and Arthur doesn't bother to hide his scowl. He remembers very well how much Alfred pushed himself during his finals week, and he doesn't want a repeat of that because Alfred decided that missing a day would be okay. Alfred seems to sense his disbelief, because he continues, “my friend, Eduard, takes really good notes. It'll be like I was there the whole time.”

“Hnn,” Arthur replies, still not convinced. Even if Alfred says it will be fine, Arthur knows that if Alfred winds up with the even slightest inkling that he may fall behind, he'll spend several nights studying until the wee hours of the morning in the hopes that he'll catch up. He'd already promised himself that he wouldn't let Alfred push himself like that again, if he wound up being the cause of it, he'd never forgive himself.

“Come on, Arthur,” Alfred says, his voice taking on a slightly childish whining quality to it. Arthur clicks his tongue and looks away. “I was too busy with school last year to do anything special for you, I don't want it to be like that this year, too.”

Arthur knows that if he looks at Alfred that he'll have that sad, kicked puppy look on his face, but despite his mind's insistence that he not give in to temptation, Arthur turns to face Alfred again. Sure enough, there it is, that puppy look that makes Arthur's face go hot with embarrassment over how easily he'll ac quiesce to whatever Alfred wants if he uses that look.

“Oh, all right,” Arthur says, exasperated, and Alfred's expression goes bright and cheerful again.

“You won't regret it! I'll make breakfast and then we'll do whatever you want.” Alfred bounds to the kitchen, but Arthur follows after him. 

Alfred is expecting him to say that he wants to stay at home all day. Maybe they'll have sex and do little more than that the entire day. While it's nice to just be together, he knows that Alfred likes going out and actually doing things, too. It's something they don't do nearly enough, which can be blamed on Arthur's averse attitude towards people in general.

“We should go out for breakfast instead,” Arthur says, and Alfred pauses in the midst of retrieving pans to give Arthur a wide-eyed look that fades into a pleased smile.

“Oh, sure! Where do you wanna go? A pancake house? Diner?”

“A coffee house would suffice,” Arthur replies, preferring to eat a small breakfast that he knows a coffee house would offer over greasy diner food or a stack of pancakes he'll never be able to finish.

“Mmkay, I know a place on campus that serves some really good tea.” Alfred smiles, and of course Arthur is touched by Alfred's thoughtful observation that he doesn't like coffee and would prefer a good cup of tea.

His shower is brief, as is Alfred's, and, after making sure Iggy gets his breakfast without interruptions from Hero, they set out in Alfred's car. Arthur should have realized that a coffee shop on a university campus would be filled with students, but he still can't help his irritation as they step inside to find various groups of people sitting at tables with their laptops or study materials. They're everything he isn't, and he feels out of place.

Alfred wastes no time in making his way to the counter, however, and he's greeted by name by the girl working at the cash register, who remarks on how early he is today.

“Today is his birthday,” Alfred says, gesturing to where Arthur is standing and trying to be inconspicuous. “Anything special he can get?”

Arthur groans as several pairs of curious eyes turn to look at him, and he scowls in return. He gives Alfred an irritated look in response to his cheerful smile, but Alfred blithely orders his “usual” along with a cup of Earl Grey and some muffins.

“You got a free muffin,” Alfred says with a smile as he hands the cup to Arthur, who takes it and immediately heads for the exit. Alfred gawks then follows after at a quick pace. “Hey, wait! Don't you want to eat here?”

“Too many people,” Arthur says as he steps back into the chill of the morning air. He closes his ungloved hands around the insulated cup to warm them and slowly sips the tea within. It actually is a very good cup of tea, but that doesn't excuse Alfred drawing attention he didn't want.

“I'm sorry,” Alfred replies, and Arthur grunts as he sips at his tea. “I just wanted other people to celebrate your birthday, too... Do you want your muffin?”

Arthur looks at Alfred, then at the blueberry muffin in his outstretched hand, and back to Alfred. He takes the muffin and starts walking down the sidewalk. “Let's go for a walk.”

“Wait, let me put more money in the meter,” Alfred says, shoving his muffin into his mouth as he runs down the sidewalk to where he parked his car. Arthur waits as Alfred fishes in his pockets for more coins, but then he starts walking again before Alfred is finished putting the money in the meter.

They walk in silence for a time, Arthur nibbling at his muffin and drinking his tea while Alfred drinks what is probably coffee in his cup, and Arthur wonders if Alfred is upset over his less than pleasant reaction to Alfred's attempts to drag others into his birthday celebration – a celebration he wouldn't otherwise be having if it wasn't for Alfred in the first place. His question is answered when he's finished eating his muffin and shoves the wrapper into his coat pocket. Alfred's hand curls around his, and when Arthur turns to look at him, Alfred smiles and threads their fingers together. 

Although his gut instinct is to pull his hand away from Alfred's – someone might see them, after all – he can't deny that it feels very good to hold Alfred's hand, as though it doesn't matter that they're two men or a punk and a good student or anything else. Just Alfred and Arthur, holding hands because they want to. Arthur squeezes Alfred's hand before he slowly pulls it away, not because he doesn't want to hold Alfred's hand, but because he doesn't want to draw anymore attention than he already does. Their relationship is their business, not anyone else's. Alfred tries to hide it, but he's obviously hurt by the rejection of his affectionate gesture. They resume sipping at their drinks in silence until they're both finished and they walk with no destination in mind.

“Let's go on the swings,” Alfred says, startling Arthur with the sudden sound of his voice. Alfred is looking over at a small playground that has only a sandpit and a small swing set. On a chilly school day in winter, there are no children there, and Alfred starts to wander over before waiting for Arthur's response. Arthur sighs, but follows after.

The swings are wet, but Alfred immediately begins swinging anyway. He's really just an overgrown child, but that's part of his charm, Arthur thinks. Alfred is smiling again in no time as he swings back and forth, and Arthur sits without moving on his own swing, content to watch Alfred.

“I've always liked swings best. It's like you're flying.”

That suits Alfred, of course, given his fascination with airplanes and spaceships, along with his desire to be an astronaut. Someday Alfred really will be flying, not held down by anything, or anyone, for that matter. 

“I liked the sandpit,” Arthur replies in a quiet voice. That was a long time ago – before Alfred, before his delinquent life. It was before his mother left him, and he would go with her and his brothers to the playground and he would sit in the sandpit because he was too small to join his brothers on the play structure.

“There's one here, you want to play in there?” Alfred asks, though his smile says that he's just teasing. 

Arthur scoffs and grabs a hold of the chain of Alfred's swing, bringing Alfred to an abrupt halt. Alfred pouts, but Arthur doesn't give in this time.

“You're ridiculous,” Arthur says in a flat voice, and Alfred puffs out his cheeks and looks away. Arthur rolls his eyes and reaches out to turn Alfred's face back towards his. There really is no one else around, Arthur notes, and so he pulls Alfred towards him as he leans forward, kissing Alfred for the first time that day. Alfred tries to bring them closer, but they abruptly break apart as the resistance on the swings pulls them apart. Alfred laughs as they sway left and right, occasionally bumping into each other.

Once upon a time, he never would have imagined that he'd live to be twenty. Now, here he is, on a swing set with the person he loves, and who loves him in return, celebrating his birthday. If Alfred really had his way, they'd probably be having a party – music, balloons, everything. It's the sort of celebrating Alfred does for his birthday, after all. This quiet routine is probably awkward for him.

With no children around, Arthur doesn't see any harm in pulling out a cigarette from the nice case Angelique gave him and lighting it up. Alfred wrinkles his nose in distaste, then slowly swings back and forth.

“What's it like to smoke?” Alfred asks, and Arthur narrows his eyes and gives Alfred a pointed look.

“Don't start,” he replies without missing a beat.

Alfred furrows his brow. “I wasn't going to. You're just always doing it, so I was curious.”

“You tried it once, remember? And what was that like?”

Alfred blinks, then scrunches up his nose as he apparently remembers that one time he took one of Arthur's cigarettes and attempted to inhale. “It was disgusting.”

“Well. There's your answer.”

Alfred's expression says that he's not satisfied with that answer, but he remains quiet for awhile and merely swings back and forth. At length he slows to a halt and stands up, motioning for Arthur to do the same. Arthur raises an eyebrow, but complies, and Alfred shoves his hands in his pockets as he starts across the grass toward the sidewalk.

“So why do you do it if it's disgusting?” Alfred asks, obviously not going to let the issue go.

Arthur opens his mouth to answer, but pauses to think. How can he explain his nicotine addiction to Alfred, who will never know what it's like?

“Everyone has their vices. This is mine,” Arthur replies, and he shrugs to show that he doesn't have a better explanation for Alfred beyond that. Alfred wrinkles his nose again, then sighs.

“Well, lucky for me I won't ever have that habit. I mean, it's gross enough kissing you after you've smoked, imagine what it would be like if we both did it.”

Arthur scowls in response to Alfred's cheeky smile, but then a thought occurs to him. He grabs a hold of Alfred's hand, halting him, and Alfred blinks in confusion at him. Arthur sticks his cigarette into his mouth and inhales, then pulls Alfred into a kiss as he exhales, blowing the smoke into Alfred's mouth. Alfred immediately starts coughing and thrashes away from Arthur.

“What the hell? That was a dick move,” Alfred says as he coughs, and Arthur smirks around his cigarette as he sticks it back into his mouth. Alfred gives him an irritated look and frowns. “I'm never kissing you again.”

“You will,” Arthur replies in a casual tone, and he doesn't stop smirking even as Alfred's expression continues to darken.

“Nope, never again. That was an unforgivable slight,” Alfred says and looks away, his arms folded and his chin held up in a defiant manner. 

Arthur rolls his eyes, but he's know that Alfred is bluffing. To prove it, he stubs out what is left of the cigarette, then, after looking around for any other people, he pulls Alfred into a proper kiss. Alfred, as expected, kisses back, eager and wanting. Arthur closes his eyes as he holds Alfred's face. He knew Alfred would kiss back if he initiated it, but of course he just likes kissing Alfred. His clumsy eagerness is endearing and just serves to make Arthur want to kiss him more.

“...still disgusting,” Alfred says in a somewhat breathless voice when they finally pull apart.

Arthur scoffs and wipes at his mouth, then resumes walking. “It obviously didn't stop you.”

“Call it a birthday present! I'm being a hero by kissing you even when you've smoked and your mouth tastes gross.” Alfred puffs out his chest and tosses in his head in a way that is so ridiculous that Arthur can't help but chuckle.

“You are completely ridiculous,” Arthur says and shakes his head. Alfred's smile widens, and Arthur averts his face, blushing a little at how pleased Alfred seems to be over something so silly and small like a chuckle.

“Let's get curry for lunch, okay? If we keep walking in this direction, there's a restaurant that makes it. I've never actually eaten any myself, but it doesn't hurt to try something new, right?” 

Arthur nods without saying anything, and he's honestly surprised that Alfred remembers that he likes curry. He's only mentioned it once, maybe twice. His astonishment must be showing on his face, because Alfred winks and flashes a thumbs up, then shoves his hands in his pockets and whistles a jovial tune as they walk down the sidewalk.

There are, as ever, the curious and sometimes critical eyes on him. He's been trying his best to be something like normal, but it seems that the more he tries, the more he doesn't succeed. Perhaps it's also because an eyesore like him is walking in such a casual way with a good-looking, well adjusted person like Alfred. Even if they aren't holding hands, they're still being judged just by being together. He wants to tell them to fuck off and mind their own business, but that would just draw even more attention than just ignoring them. Alfred is oblivious, and so Arthur follows half a step behind him.

The restaurant is one of those places where they have to sit down to eat, but Alfred wisely opts to not mention anything about it being Arthur's birthday to their server, and so their meal passes without incident. The curry is good, and of course Alfred's company is always pleasant, and Arthur's spirits are up by the time they leave.

Simply going for a walk on one's birthday would probably be very boring to anyone else, but it's always how Arthur has spent his birthdays, only this time making people angry isn't one of his primary objectives for the day, and he has Alfred with him, chattering away as always. The weather is warmer as the afternoon wears on, but the clouds in the sky are ominous. 

“It will probably rain,” Alfred remarks after a time, and Arthur looks up at the sky. The weather is too warm for snow, but it's an odd time of year for it to rain. Alfred frowns, then looks back at Arthur. “There's one more place I wanted to take you, then we should head back to the car.”

Their next destination is a joke shop, and Arthur gives Alfred an unimpressed look, which Alfred returns with a cheerful smile. Everyone appreciates a good joke, Alfred explains. Arthur rolls his eyes and follows Alfred into the shop. Alfred heads for a display of glasses, and Arthur takes his time browsing trick decks of cards and hand buzzers, among other things. Arthur would think that Alfred is just a really big child again, but the other occupants of the shop are about Alfred's age, if not older. Some people never really grow up.

“Hey, Arthur,” Alfred says, interrupting Arthur's musings, and Arthur turns to look at Alfred. Alfred has a devious grin on his face, but his regular glasses are gone, replaced with a pair that cover his blue eyes with a set of paper ones. Alfred looks so ridiculous that Arthur can't help but snort, then start laughing.

“Ha! I made you laugh!” Alfred says with a victorious toss of his fist into the air. He pulls off the glasses and puts his back on, and Arthur coughs into his fist, trying to stifle his laughter.

“You did not, don't be foolish,” Arthur replies, but he really is laughing and smiling, and it's such a pleasant feeling that he suddenly stops short.

The morning started off on the wrong foot, but ever since the playground, they've been enjoying each other's company. Arthur hasn't been over thinking anything, or assuming that Alfred's love is but a fleeting thing that will someday end. 

They could be happy. _He_ could be happy.

All of the negative thoughts he's been suppressing hit him with a vengeance at that moment, and he sucks in a breath. He doesn't deserve to be happy. He's just fooling himself by even entertaining the notion. Of course little things like kissing on a swing set and Alfred remembering that he likes curry and making him laugh with a pair of joke glasses are little pieces of a normal life that he won't ever have. It's foolish to act so complacent. His chest feels tight – a painful sensation like his heart is being crushed. 

“Arthur? What's wrong?” Alfred asks, and Arthur blinks. He must have looked visibly distressed. 

“It's nothing, Alfred. We should head back,” Arthur says, and he's thankful that his voice doesn't waver at all. Alfred furrows his brow, but he follows Arthur out of the shop.

Alfred keeps looking at him, and Arthur chews on his lip in shame. Poor Alfred, trying to be so patient and understanding and having nothing to show for it. He deserves so much better than what he has. He deserves better than Arthur. Arthur knows this, and yet he still doesn't try to break things off. Even when he doesn't deserve anything, he still manages to be selfish.

Alfred starts to say something, but whatever he was going to say is cut off by a sudden downpour. Alfred swears and grabs Arthur's hand, then he starts running down the sidewalk. They walked too far away from the car, and eventually Alfred stops trying to run and pauses to catch his breath. Arthur wheezes, unused to the exercise, and Alfred smiles in apology.

“Sorry. We wandered farther than I thought,” Alfred says, and Arthur shakes his head. His chest is on fire, and even if the weather is unseasonably warm, it's still chilly enough that the rain is bitterly cold. The building beside them is an empty shop displaying a “for rent” sign in the window, and there's no one else foolish enough to wander on the streets without an umbrella, and so Arthur leans against Alfred, who manages to be warm even in his sopping wet clothes. Alfred relaxes and pulls him closer, and Arthur doesn't resist. 

He was happy, even for a time, when he wasn't picking everything apart in his mind, like he always does. Happiness isn't as complicated a concept as he makes it out to be. It can be even something as simple as spending a day with Alfred doing nothing out of the ordinary. It's simple, but he manages to make it complicated. Just like their relationship.

Alfred's hand is on his chin, tilting his head up, and then Alfred is kissing him. Kissing in the rain, Arthur thinks, such a foolish, romantic cliché. Even in the cold, winter air it feels nice to kiss Alfred under a torrent of raindrops. He starts to pull Alfred closer, but their kiss is interrupted by a car driving too close to the curb, effectively splashing them with dirty rainwater. Arthur swears and pulls away from Alfred, planning to chase after the car and slash the bastard's tires. Alfred merely laughs and grabs his wrist, and when Arthur struggles against his grip, he grabs Arthur around the waist and lifts him off the ground.

“Hey, hey, let it go, sweetheart. I'm sure whoever it was didn't mean it,” Alfred says, but Arthur thinks otherwise. It was probably someone who didn't like the sight of two men kissing in the rain. Regardless, he stops struggling and settles for grumbling until Alfred puts him down again. He turns around to glare at Alfred, who looks him over from head to toe.

“You're wet and dirty,” Alfred says, and Arthur rolls his eyes at the brilliant observation.

“As are you,” he replies, and Alfred shrugs and smiles in response. “Let's hurry back. You'll simply fall ill again if you're out here for much longer.”

“Yes, mother,” Alfred says in a high-pitched voice. Arthur rolls his eyes and walks ahead, eager to get back to the warmth of the car even if Alfred isn't.

Alfred takes a moment to find a tissue among the junk in his glove compartment to clean off his glasses, while Arthur lets the heater warm him up. First thing he'll do when they get to the apartment is get a towel and change into warm, dry clothes. When Alfred is satisfied with the condition of his glasses, he turns on the radio, then turns up the volume right away.

Arthur looks at Alfred, who is already busy concentrating on pulling out of the parking space. Arthur turns his attention to the radio and listens closely to what is playing. He knows the song. Tears For Fears.

“I always thought this song fit how I felt about you in high school really well,” Alfred says, and Arthur looks back at Alfred. Alfred is smiling, though his eyes are on the road. “You know, even if you were just killing time by being with me, I still fell pretty hard for you. I really wanted to be with you. Head over heels, like the song says.”

Arthur's throat goes dry, and he feels a blush creep its way onto his cheeks. He doesn't know what to say.

“And you know,” Alfred continues, and Arthur looks away, embarrassed. “I...I saw you. Before I met you outside the burger place, I mean. I was playing football with my friends in the park and you were there in the parking lot. Even just with that one look, I knew I had to meet you. You were in the park on my birthday, too, and I really wanted to break away from my friends and family and go talk to you instead. I was really happy when I finally got to meet you. I just knew that there was a reason that I wanted to meet you.”

Arthur stares in shock at Alfred, and Alfred gives him a shy smile before he turns his attention back to the road. Alfred knew about him, before they even met. Alfred wanted to meet him, even then. Even seeing what a no good delinquent he was, Alfred still wanted to meet him and talk to him. His eyes start to burn and he blinks to dispel the sensation.

Even if he wants to return the sentiment, he doesn't have a sweet story to tell Alfred in return. After all, he really _had_ just thought he was wasting time with Alfred until something more interesting came along. Even if he had been falling in love the entire time, he had refused to notice or acknowledge his feelings. There was no love at first sight for him, no knowing that a ridiculous boy he met outside of a burger shop would be the one who would make him fall in love and want to leave his miserable life behind.

He moves his mouth uselessly for a moment, then looks away in shame once more. He focuses on the radio instead, and part of the lyrics catches his attention. 

_“I feel so...”_

So what? Maybe he's supposed to fill in the blank, but how _does_ he feel? His feelings are as complicated as ever, but at the same time he's realized that for as complicated as his feelings and their relationship are, they're also very simple at the same time. So how does he feel? Alfred's question from months ago runs through his mind, and though he hadn't been able to properly answer then, he knows now.

Alfred really does make him so very happy.

He's the one holding himself back from happiness. Analyzing everything, deconstructing everything, assuming the worst when things have only just begun. No, Alfred really does make him happy, whatever “happiness” really is, and he's just so used to denying himself of that feeling that he doesn't notice when he feels it. The same way he never noticed that he was in love.

There's no touching story to tell Alfred, but he does turn to Alfred when the car drags to a halt at a red light, and Alfred turns to look at him.

“I really do love you,” Arthur says, his voice is hoarse from how dry his throat is. It's all he can say, and it pales in comparison to Alfred's confession. Even so, Alfred's face lights up, and that he can make Alfred so happy with such simple words is always so amazing.

He spends the rest of the ride home looking out the window and watching the rain, processing this new information that Alfred knew of his existence before they met. No one has ever wanted to meet him, but Alfred did. That's just like Alfred, though – surprising him when he doesn't think he can be surprised anymore. His eyes sting again, and he bites his lip to will it away.

Hero doesn't try to tackle him when they step back into the flat, obviously affronted by how wet he is, and he swats in irritation at the wet hand that tries to pet him. Arthur smiles at Hero, then heads straight the closet where the towels are, taking one and handing another to Alfred. They strip of their wet clothes and dress in dry ones instead, and Arthur wonders how they'll spend the rest of the evening.

“Cake time!” Alfred says, answering Arthur's question, and he's ushered into the kitchen, where Alfred retrieves a simple cupcake covered with vanilla frosting. “I figured you wouldn't want an entire cake, so I just got you a cupcake instead.”

Arthur doesn't have time to respond before Alfred sticks a candle into the cupcake and lights it, then starts singing “Happy Birthday” to him. Alfred usually sings loud and off key, but his voice is soft and pleasant now. Arthur stares at the cupcake and he can't help but remember the last time he had a cupcake on his birthday. He was fifteen, and he stole it. He didn't finish it and gave it to some stray dogs to eat instead. Happy birthday, you worthless punk, he told himself.

“Make a wish, Arthur,” Alfred says, and Arthur blinks at him, then looks back at the cupcake.

A birthday wish is such a pointless concept, and he almost tells Alfred this. He pauses instead, and decides that wishing for something pointless is actually the point of a birthday wish. As long as he's wishing for something he'll never really have, he might as well play along.

_I want to be happy._

He blows out the candle, and Alfred grins at him. He pulls the candle out and cuts the cupcake in half, taking one half for himself and giving the other half back to Arthur. Arthur picks at the cupcake, but he's not concentrating on eating it. It's not the first time he's wished for happiness, but that other time was long ago. Now he wants to believe that he can be happy, and then perhaps he really will be. 

“So what do you want to do now?” Alfred asks, and Arthur has a feeling that Alfred has already decided on what the answer will be. If he asks, Alfred will make love to him. On the bed, against the wall, in the shower, on the couch, sprawled on the kitchen table – whatever his request, Alfred will oblige him with care and “how does it feel, sweetheart?”

But Alfred missed school that day, and even if he says it will be all right, Arthur will probably wake up in the middle of the night and find Alfred wide awake with his books and notes, studying to make up for his missed classes.

“Why don't you study?” Arthur says, and Alfred blinks, then furrows his brow.

“Eh? No, but it's your birthday, so I'll do whatever you–”

“I'll sit with you,” Arthur says, interrupting Alfred's protest. Alfred looks ready to argue, but he nods, smiling slightly.

“All right.”

Alfred checks his laptop, scribbling things into his notebook, and then they settle themselves on the sofa. Arthur has his book of Shakespeare, and Alfred has a physics book. Arthur pretends to read, but he's really watching Alfred and the way his eyes rapidly scan the page, then turn to his notebook as he scribbles barely legible notes, then return to scanning the page. He does everything at such a fast pace that Arthur wonders if he really processes what he reads. That he doesn't notice that Arthur is staring at him proves that he's deep in concentration, however, and Arthur has to smile. 

Alfred finally notices that he's being watched, but only when he switches from his physics book to an English book. Arthur is pulled into Alfred's arms as he lies back against the sofa and settles into reading his book as a much more leisurely pace. Their positions are always reversed, with Alfred sprawled on top of Arthur while he reads, and Arthur has to admit that he rather enjoys the change of pace.

“Happy birthday,” Alfred says, kissing Arthur's forehead.

“...thank you,” Arthur replies in a quiet voice, and he's not merely thanking Alfred for the birthday wish. He's thanking him for many things, things he hopes he'll one day be able to tell Alfred in words, not just actions. 

He wants to be happy. It's not just a silly wish on a birthday cupcake. He was once a small child wishing for happiness, and it never came. He's now twenty and wishing for happiness, but this time he really believes it might come.


	12. Enough Said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred comes home drunk one night and winds up inadvertently guilt-tripping Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick mid-week update. This is one of the stories that doesn't add much to the overall plot, but does add some context for the story I'll be posting on Saturday or Sunday.

It’s as Arthur is settling himself down for the night with a good cup of tea and a fat cat in his lap that a knock on the door interrupts his moment of peace. It’s rare that anyone comes knocking on the door aside from maintenance or one of the landlords, and it’s far too late in the evening for it to be one of those visits.

Regardless, Arthur eases Hero off of his lap and heads for the door, opening it to see who is disturbing him at such an hour. There’s a pretty girl standing there, and Arthur swears that he’s seen her before. It all comes back to him when he notices that hunched over and leaning against her is Alfred, apparently unable to stand on his own.

“I think we might have had a _little_ too much fun with your boyfriend,” she says with a small laugh, and Arthur remembers her as one of Alfred’s friends. Elizaveta. He’s so taken aback by seeing Alfred in such a state that it doesn’t even occur to him that she referred to Alfred as his boyfriend. Alfred lifts his head and smiles an entirely too lopsided smile, and Arthur notes how flushed he looks.

“Ahhh, Lizzie, it’s my sweetheart,” Alfred says, his words slurring together. He extracts himself from her hold and stumbles forward, nearly taking Arthur to the floor when he crashes into him. Arthur manages to get a firm hold on Alfred and lift him up, and an almost nauseating smell of alcohol accosts his nostrils as he gives Elizaveta a bewildered look.

“Here’s his car keys, sorry for the trouble. I’ll see you in class on Monday, Alfred,” she says in a loud voice, though Alfred is too busy nuzzling Arthur’s neck to take any notice. Arthur gives her an irritated scowl before he closes the door.

“Who got you drunk, Alfred?” Not that Arthur can do anything about it, but it still would be nice to know. He manages to maneuver Alfred over to the sofa, where Alfred spills across its length. Arthur takes a tentative seat next to him as Alfred rolls onto his back and glares at the ceiling.

“That stupid fucker Ivan was saying he could out drink me and fuck if I’d back down from a challenge from that asshole. Hope he drops out or transfers. Stupid…fucker…asshole.”

The fact that Alfred is so foulmouthed would be more amusing if Alfred wasn’t also off his face drunk. It’s news to Arthur that Alfred actually hates anyone, however. He remembers Alfred mentioning an Ivan, but he wasn’t aware that things were so hostile between them.

“His sister is really something, though. Her boobs are _huge_. Huge, and really soft, too.”

Arthur twitches, and he glares down at Alfred. Drunk or not, Alfred shouldn’t be going around touching a woman’s breasts. Even if it’s a terrible one, they’re still in a relationship.

“I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t accidentally tripped into her, but damn. I always wondered what a girl’s breasts felt like.”

Arthur’s heart sinks at that admission, because of course Alfred was a virgin before they met, and didn’t even have much experience beyond very casual and chaste displays of affection. Alfred doesn’t know what it’s like to have sex with a woman, and he probably would like to know. He _would_ be able to know if they weren’t together. His brows furrow and he stares at the floor. After all, all he’s doing is holding Alfred back from what he could really have in life.

“Arthur?”

Arthur looks over to Alfred, who is red in the face and watching him with a solemn expression. Alfred struggles to sit upright and when he manages it he wraps himself around Arthur and nuzzles his neck again.

“I love you, Arthur. Love you, love you, love you.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, but he lifts a hand to drag through Alfred’s hair. He doesn’t doubt Alfred’s words, but he does doubt whether or not Alfred realizes that by loving him he’s holding himself back.

“Why won’t you tell me anything, Arthur?” Alfred asks, and Arthur’s stomach feels like it’s doing a flip. He stares in shock down at Alfred, whose face is obscured against his neck. “I wanna know everything about you, but you never say anything.”

“…I’m sorry,” Arthur replies, though he still doesn’t believe himself capable of telling Alfred the truth. The truth will just drive him away.

Although that might be for the best.

“…I’m gonna throw up,” Alfred says and suddenly stands, lurching in the direction of the toilet and crashing into walls along the way. Arthur cringes when things being knocked off the counter is followed by the sound of Alfred retching, and he sighs as he stands, as well.

Alfred will regret his decision to drink in the morning, but Arthur will try his best to ease some of the discomfort. It’s the least he can do.


	13. The Space Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur’s doubts finally come to a head and, after some tense words, he leaves Alfred, but being away allows him to decide what he really wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Pacing issues. This would have been better served as two separate, more drawn out fics, but at the time I had been struggling to write this, so I was ultimately satisfied with this as the final product. Still, it's a major turning point in the story, so I hope it will still be enjoyable for what it is.

From below, the sound of delighted laughter makes Arthur stand up and lean over the balcony to watch the proceedings in the grass below while he smokes. 

A group of children from their building is gathered around Alfred, waiting as he apparently explains something to them. They suddenly disperse with peals of laughter as Alfred covers his eyes and starts a loud count, and the children dart to hide wherever they can fit into or behind.

“Ready or not, here I come!” 

Alfred grins as he removes his hands from his eyes and runs across the grass, surprising the hiding children with calls of “gotcha!” while they squeal and laugh. When Alfred finds the last of the children, they chase after him while Alfred yelps and flees at a pace that allows him to be easily caught, and he winds up with a group of boys and girls wrapped around his legs. While the children cling to him, Alfred notices Arthur watching, and he lifts a hand to wave.

Arthur frowns and pushes himself off the railing, stubbing out his cigarette before he steps back inside. The parents of these children trust Alfred, and with good reason. Alfred is good with kids, and it's obvious to anyone that watches him interact with children that he'd be an excellent father. 

And that's what scares Arthur.

Someday Alfred will want to be a father. If they are still together when that happens, Arthur doesn't know how he'll handle it. He _can't_ be a father. Even if the child is adopted and doesn't share his DNA, there is still the possibility that he might be the sort of parent his own father was. Or even his mother—abandoning his family because it's the easiest escape route from his problems. Either way, he can't do it. He can't be a father. Even if Alfred would be the greatest father in the world, if Arthur followed in his parents' footsteps, he could still ruin his child's life.

He sits on the sofa and buries his face in his hands, wondering how he could ever tell Alfred that as long as they're together, there won't be any children in their future.

More and more, Arthur wonders what good is coming out of Alfred staying with him. Alfred is getting nothing out of their relationship—giving too much and receiving nothing in return. 

The door opens, and Arthur lifts his head, straightening his posture before Alfred appears, flushed and rumpled in appearance but beaming.

“Hey, you should come play sometime, too! I bet the kids would love it.”

Arthur looks away, chewing on the inside of his cheek before he replies. “I don't think so.”

“Ehhh, I think if you tried, you'd find out how much fun it is!”

Arthur doesn't respond, and Alfred crosses the room, leaning over to kiss him, but Arthur turns his face away before he can. Alfred pulls back, and Arthur notices the hurt on his face before he smiles again.

“Anyway, you still want to come with me tomorrow, right?”

“I suppose,” Arthur replies, and he looks up when Alfred starts to walk away. “Alfred?”

Alfred turns around, a smile on his face. He tilts his head to the side—so charming and naïve. “Yeah?”

“You would be a good father,” Arthur says, looking away again.

“You think so?” Alfred is obviously pleased by that observation, and he laughs. “Yeah...yeah, I would be!”

Arthur frowns and he lowers his face back into his hands when he hears Alfred moving pans around in the kitchen—away from where he can see Arthur letting his doubts begin to show.

* * *

Normally when he and Alfred go out on a date, Arthur will at least attempt to humor Alfred and his often silly whims, but today he suddenly has no patience for anything. The way Alfred eats, what he eats, how casual he is with everyone, how he gets flustered over the most ridiculous of things, how clumsy he is, and most of all that he won't ever think of himself before others.

He fell in love with a fool. A fool who has no idea what the world is really like. The glasses he wears must be so rosy as to make him blind.

But he keeps his thoughts to himself as he and Alfred go out to eat, then go for a walk in a park, which Alfred plans to follow up with a movie after. But as they head back to Alfred's car, Alfred's phone rings and he gives Arthur an apologetic smile as he answers it.

“Hello? Oh, hey! Ahhh...I can't right now, maybe some other time? All right, later.”

Alfred hangs up the phone and smiles at Arthur, but Arthur has had enough.

“Let's just go home,” Arthur says, scowling as he pushes past Alfred to the car. 

“What's wrong?” Alfred asks, but Arthur doesn't respond and climbs into the car, turning away so he doesn't have to see what sort of look Alfred has on his face.

The car ride home is spent in silence, and Alfred doesn't even put on the radio as he usually does. Arthur takes the time to stew in his thoughts.

Alfred is always doing that—turning down opportunities to be with his friends to waste time with Arthur instead. That's all it is, wasting time. And all Alfred is doing is wasting his time with Arthur when he could be experiencing so much more in life. Other people, other places, other things beyond a broken, emotionally stunted punk.

Maybe they were both better off before they met. Alfred had a fine, successful life, and Arthur was desensitized enough to his emotions that anything that had happened wouldn't have mattered. Feeling things means he has to face that he's in over his head and taking Alfred with him.

They continue to remain quiet even after they arrive at their building and wait for the lift to take them back to their floor. The moment the doors open, Arthur's stomach feels as though it drops somewhere the floor and he swears that all of the blood drains from his face.

“Hey! It's that jerk Arthur! What's wrong, jerk Arthur?”

Peter steps off with Berwald in tow, and all Arthur can do as Peter mocks him is breathe heavily. He can't even hear Peter's words, just a ringing in his ears. There will be no denying the family resemblance. Alfred will know. Peter finally leaves with Berwald, but Arthur remains frozen in place, feeling as though he'll either faint or vomit.

“That boy...” Alfred's voice is what brings Arthur back to reality, and he sucks in a heaving breath before he bolts for the stairs instead. As he takes the stairs two at time, he hears Alfred following and calling after him. “Arthur, what're you doing? Who is that boy?”

“It's not important, never mind,” Arthur says, turning to snap at Alfred. He pauses at the right floor to briefly catch his breath, then he opens the door and heads towards their flat. But of course he knows that simply dismissing what just happened won't make Alfred forget or back off.

“What do you mean it's not important? He looks just like you!”

Arthur abruptly stops, causing Alfred to crash into him, and he turns to give Alfred the coldest look he can muster. “He's my brother.”

“He's your...hey, wait!”

Arthur wants to get away. His mother is friends with Tino and Berwald so of course the chance of running into Peter or even her has always been there, but he didn't want Alfred to ever see them. He quickly unlocks their door and pushes his way inside, but Alfred is right behind him, and there is no escape from him.

“You can't just say something like that and run away, Arthur! What do you mean he's your brother? So why didn't you say something to him? Why didn't you ever tell me that he was living here?”

“He doesn't, and I don't have to tell you _anything_.”

But of course that isn't good enough for Alfred. His face is red, and his brows are furrowed. Not quite anger, but certainly not his warm smiles and loving eyes. Something between them is beginning to break.

“You always do this, Arthur. You won't ever tell me anything, so I never know how I can make things better! I've seen your body enough times to notice. Who hurt you? _Why_ did they hurt you?”

Arthur's chest tightens, and he thinks for a moment that this could be it. He could pour his heart out to Alfred and tell him everything. His past could be out in the open and maybe Alfred will still accept him and everything will be okay.

But no, everything is _not_ okay, because he has too many doubts about the state of their relationship for things to ever be okay. A delinquent and a model student who spent months having sex after school and then tried to make a relationship out of such a dysfunctional arrangement do not live happily ever after.

One day Alfred will stop loving him, and until then all they'll keep doing is spiraling downwards.

“Was it your parents? Did they hurt you?”

Arthur snaps out of his thoughts, ugly feelings building inside of him at Alfred's words. Alfred's guess is correct, of course, but he doesn't need to know that. He won't ever have to know that. Arthur's face twists into an angry frown and he glares at Alfred, unable to suppress the doubts that have bothered him for so long.

“And what about you, Alfred? You think that just because you want it to, life will always work out in your favor? That because you are constantly a fool and do things for others that everything will fall into place? The world doesn't work like that, Alfred.”

Alfred's eyes widen, but then his eyebrows furrow into a scowl immediately after. His face reddens further, and his tone of voice is finally angry. “You think I don't know that? I'm not stupid, Arthur! Of course I know that's not how the world works—”

“No, I don't think you do,” Arthur says, interrupting Alfred. “What about children? You do know that as long as you're with me, you'll never have any children?”

“That's... Well, we could always—”

“No, Alfred. No matter how you try to justify it, you'll never be a father as long as you stay with me.” Arthur pauses, and Alfred opens his mouth to speak—no doubt to express how it's okay if they remain childless. Arthur lifts a hand to stop him. “And don't tell me it's okay. I know it's not. You can't keep compromising what you want because of me. You should be spending more time with your friends, with your studies, with all of the other things you wanted out of life before you met me. Did your parents tell you this? You're throwing your life away on me.”

The look on Alfred's face is a mix of anger and disbelief, and he throws his arms in the air, pacing back and forth. “That's not true! I do all of those things because I lo—”

“You do them because you're a fool,” Arthur says, stopping Alfred before he can something that might break his resolve. “And I'm tired of your foolishness.”

Arthur doesn't stop to think about what he's doing as he pulls his keys out of his jacket and tosses them at Alfred, then turns and heads out the door. There is a slight delay before he hears a sharp intake of breath and then Alfred is following him down the hall towards the back flight of stairs.

“Arthur!” Alfred's voice is full of panic, but Arthur breaks into a run to get away from him. When he reaches the door to the stairs, he reaches to open it, but a hand on his arm stops him. He whips around to glare at Alfred, and he stops short.

Alfred, though breathing heavily, looks completely distraught, and for a moment Arthur's heart clenches and he starts to regret what he's doing. He's hurting Alfred, and regardless of doubts, the last he wants to do is honestly hurt him. He wants to pull Alfred into his arms and murmur how he's sorry—he's sorry and Alfred shouldn't make that face. He easily could, and things would return to the way they were.

But there's no turning back, and he doesn't want to anymore. It's better to break away before they're both in too deep. A little pain now to save them from devastating pain later. And Alfred will have all of the opportunities he's missing out on open to him once more. He wrenches his arm out of Alfred's grasp and opens the door.

“I don't ever want to see you again,” he says in a cold voice before he heads into the stairwell.

Alfred's voice calls after him again, but Alfred doesn't follow him. Even so, Arthur keeps a brisk pace as he descends the stairs and pushes out into the still chilly air of early spring. He doesn't know where to go, but he keeps running until his legs threaten to give out underneath him.

As he bends over, wheezing to catch his breath, a sudden thought occurs to him and makes him choke.

He just ran out on the only person who has ever honestly loved him.

The reality of what he's just done hits him hard—enough that he doubles over and vomits.

* * *

Once a delinquent, always a delinquent. Or rather, Arthur finds it almost disturbingly easy to fall back on old habits. It's the only thing he finds he _can_ do to distract himself from the fact that he left Alfred, and how very empty he feels knowing that he can never go back.

Although it is something he swore he would never do again, Arthur tries his hand at picking pockets—not out of necessity, but merely to keep himself distracted. That's the only real reason why he ever did it before. He's not sure how he should feel when he is successful.

But apart from Alfred or not, he still has a job to keep despite having nowhere to return to, and he still has to maintain a somewhat respectable appearance, and being caught picking pockets will hardly help him in that regard. 

For his first night alone, he opts to sleep underneath a bridge. He could afford a cheap motel room, but sleeping in a bed alone will only make him painfully aware of Alfred's absence. He can already imagine waking up multiple times during the night expecting Alfred's arms to be around him and finding nothing but an empty space in a foreign bed beside him instead.

But his plan proves futile in the end. The noise from cars passing overhead wakes him often, and each time he is disappointed to find himself on a dirty slope under a bridge instead of in a warm bed held by Alfred. Each time his heart aches. After all, hadn't he realized before that even if Alfred is fine without him, he's hardly fine without Alfred?

He tries to justify his decision to himself that it wasn't merely a rash decision made in an emotionally distressing moment, and that it would have happened eventually anyway. Even if Peter hadn't appeared at that moment, something else would have happened somewhere along the line and the results would have been the same. Perhaps it would be farther into the future, and perhaps it would be Alfred who left instead of Arthur. Although Arthur can't imagine anything hurting more than it does now, there would always be the possibility. It's better that it happened now. Even if it hurts and feels like he's sentenced himself to death, it's better that it happened now. Maybe not better for him, but better for Alfred, and that's enough.

Either way, It's too late to turn back, and so he'll have to live with his decision, even if it's going to be a farce of a life like it had been before.

Eventually he'll have to learn to desensitize himself to his emotions once more, and then nothing will matter, because he won't feel a thing.

* * *

“What the heck happened to you, Eyebrows?”

Arthur grinds his teeth and briefly contemplates ignoring Angelique's inquiry, but he turns and lifts his head to give her an irritated look. She looks him over with a critical eye and shakes her head.

“You look like you haven't bathed in a week!”

Arthur clicks his tongue and almost has to laugh to himself. The truth is that he _hasn't_ bathed since he left Alfred over a week ago, and the fact that he only has the one pair of clothes coupled with his spending every night sleeping in various outdoor locations certainly hasn't helped his hygiene. At any time he could have found a cheap room, but he's still convinced that sleeping in a bed would make him feel Alfred's absence even more than he does now.

His life is a mess, anyway, so he can't see why it matters if his appearance matches how he feels.

“And if I haven't?” He gives her a blank look, and for a moment she gives him the same look in return. Then her nose scrunches up and she shakes her head.

“That's really gross! Think of the people who have to work with you! You may not care about yourself, but your stink will effect the rest of us!”

“Hnn.” He sticks his previously forgotten cigarette back in his mouth and looks away from her. If he wants to run his life into the ground, that's his business and no one else's, especially not Angelique's. And if he wants to walk around dirty and spend his lunch break moping, that's also his business.

“Did something happen, Arthur?” 

The use of his name instead of “Eyebrows” startles him, and he lifts his head to look at her in shock. A look of genuine concern is on her face, leaving Arthur so dumbstruck that he can't respond. She shifts her weight and bites her lip before he continues.

“You've been wearing the same clothes all week, and you're not usually this bad. Is there maybe something I can do for you?”

Arthur gapes at her while she continues to give him that concerned look, but then he carefully regains his composure, looking away. He ruined the only good thing in his life, and there's nothing that anyone can do about that.

“Never mind, Angelique. Why don't you go bother Feliks for awhile?”

He doesn't look up again, so he can't see her face. She stays still at first, though, and Arthur nearly snaps at her to go away, but then she finally turns and leaves him to sit on the back dock alone. He lets out a sigh and pulls another cigarette out of its pack, lighting it up and leaning back.

Angelique's sudden attention brings to light a new issue that Arthur hadn't considered before. He's quite fine with letting his life fall apart without care of anyone else, but he doesn't want anyone noticing or meddling, either. That he's let his personal appearance suffer will only draw attention, and he doesn't want that at all. He supposes he has no choice but to at least feign taking care of himself.

So with some reluctance he finishes his work day without letting it be obvious that something is amiss, then instead of wandering the streets to pass the time until he finds something to sleep under, he goes out and buys a couple new outfits and finds a place to stay for a couple of nights. It's not so much for the place to stay as it is for access to a shower, but while he's spending the money, he decides he might as well take advantage of the bed.

His excuse for sleeping outside was that he'd be made all the more aware of Alfred's absence, but that's all it was—an excuse. In truth, he didn't sleep very much or very well, and as evidenced by Angelique's earlier inquiry, all he was doing was making himself look even more unsightly than usual.

A shower feels lovely, he has to admit, as do the new, clean clothes. Although he tries to put it off by going out to get food and to find a laundromat, Arthur eventually has to return to the room and go to sleep. 

At first he merely sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed, wearing nothing but a clean pair of boxers and noting that it's not as large as the bed he shared with Alfred. At length he lies down, slowly shifting himself under the sheets and settling against a pillow. It's not as large as his old bed, but it still feels too big for him to sleep in alone. Then it occurs to him that instead of spreading himself out, he's huddled in the same position he would sleep in if he was with Alfred. He groans, mentally berating himself, and sprawls diagonally across the bed to take up as much space as possible.

As he tries to will himself to sleep, he reminds himself that he has no right to pine, not when he was the one to run out on Alfred in the first place. Overwhelming fatigue from days of not sleeping enough finally wins out, and he falls into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

* * *

Angelique gives him a curious look when he walks into work the next day, but she doesn't say a word to him as they go about their work checking stock and sorting boxes. Arthur works at his normal pace, not wanting to seem suspicious in a different way by working too hard. Regardless, Arthur feels her eyes on him the entire time.

When his lunch break rolls around, Arthur retreats to his normal spot on the back loading dock with his carton of cigarettes, but Angelique isn't far behind. Rather than inquire about his sudden change back to his usual detachment, she holds out half of a sandwich to him. He looks at the proffered sandwich, then gives Angelique a curious look.

“You're obviously not eating enough, Eyebrows. Just take it.” She thrusts the sandwich towards him with a stern look, and he shakes his head and looks away.

“And I'm supposed to just listen to you?”

“Just take the damn sandwich, Eyebrows. It won't kill you to eat more.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow at her, but takes the sandwich half in hand, looking it over. It's a sloppily made peanut butter with strawberry jam sandwich, which he takes a cautious bite of. Despite its poor construction and the cloying taste of the jam, it's not as bad a meal as it could be. He takes small bites, chewing each other thoroughly before he swallows. Next to him, he can feel Angelique's eyes watching his movements, though he chooses not to acknowledge that he's aware she's watching him.

“Thank you, I suppose,” he says as he finishes, brushing the remaining crumbs off his shirt.

“Your day off is tomorrow, too, right?” she asks, not acknowledging his gratitude. He freezes, then nods slowly. Her face breaks into a smile, something he rarely ever sees on her face—at least directed at him. “Great! So instead of being a grumpy jerk all by yourself all day, why don't you hang out with me instead?”

Arthur stares blankly at her, parsing her words. His mouth opens, then closes again as he tries to think up an intelligent reply that isn't simply that she's out of her mind. “I beg your pardon?”

“Meet me here tomorrow about noon and I'll show you what it means to actually have some fun now and then.” She continues to smile, swinging her legs back and forth.

Arthur frowns and turns away, wondering what sort of annoyances he's brought upon himself by letting his appearance suffer so. “I know what it means to have fun.”

“Then it's no problem, right? Tomorrow at noon, then.”

Before Arthur can respond, Angelique stands and heads back inside, leaving Arthur to scowl at the spot she'd previously occupied. He sighs and out of a sudden reflex, he pulls out his phone, freezing when he does so. He's afraid to turn it on, lest there be any messages from Alfred waiting for him. Alfred asking him to come home, Alfred asking about his well-being—anything that would only make Arthur regret his decision all the more.

His hand begins to shake, but he turns the phone on, only to find that there's nothing waiting for him. Not a single message from Alfred. Arthur supposes he should be happy. That means that Alfred has no desire to seek him out again. Instead, he can't help but feel a little ill knowing that Alfred can cast him off so easily.

He slams the phone shut and shoves it back into his pocket. There really is no need to dwell on something he brought on himself. For now he should be worrying about getting through a day with Angelique without her wanting to kill him.

* * *

Although he could just as easily not bother showing up, Arthur imagines that working with Angelique would become unbearable if he doesn't humor her the one time. Not bothering to fix up his appearance beyond his usual routine, Arthur shows up to find Angelique in a short dress with her hair tied off with ribbons. He briefly entertains the thought that she looks pretty like that, but he just as quickly brushes the thought off as ridiculous.

“Eh, so you actually decided to show up, did you? So even a jerk like you has manners, I'm impressed.”

“...will you kindly get on with what you've dragged me out here for?”

Angelique sighs and scowls at him, but starts walking towards the street. “Your manners were nice while they lasted, anyway. We're going to see a movie and then get something to eat.”

Neither sounds particularly appealing, but Arthur follows Angelique regardless. Rather than wind up at some fancy cinema, Angelique takes him to a small theatre that shows double features of old fashioned silent and black and white films. To his even greater surprise, he enjoys them and enjoys Angelique's commentary as she leans over to whisper to him during certain parts. He leaves the theatre feeling as though he didn't just waste a few hours time watching unnecessarily flashy special effects or melodramatic drama that exists for its own sake.

“Not bad, huh?” Angelique asks, a knowing smile on her face as they leave the theatre.

“I have to admit, I'm rather impressed that a silly girl like you has good taste.”

“I'll take that as a compliment, Eyebrows! Hope you like fish, because there's a great place that sells the best you'll ever taste!”

He's actually not a fan of fish, but he's supposed to be humoring it, and she's already shown herself to have reliable, good tastes after the films she chose for them to watch, so he doesn't comment and follows her onto their next destination. 

When he pulls out and lights a cigarette, Angelique's pleasant expression melts into one of disgust and she scowls at him, gesturing to the cigarette sticking out of his mouth.

“Do you really have to do that? It's really gross.”

He pulls it out of his mouth and blows the smoke in her direction, causing her to cough and scowl even more.

“Guess you can't have everything perfect...” she says in a quiet voice, just loud enough that Arthur catches what she says, though he doesn't ask what she means.

While the food doesn't impress the way the films did, Arthur has to admit that it's hardly the worst thing he's ever tried. He's not sure exactly what kind of fish he's eating, but there are no tentacles or eyes staring at him, so he's not automatically turned off by eating it. Angelique prattles on about fish and the specific things about them, and Arthur only half listens to her this time, as disinterested in fish as he is.

The afternoon is giving way to the evening by the time they leave the restaurant, and Angelique doesn't even have to ask before he admits to himself that the day wasn't a waste of time at all. In fact, he'd call it almost enjoyable.

“Ha! See, I knew that underneath that pain in the ass exterior of yours was someone who isn't a complete jerk all of the time.”

“Yes, well. If you're done with me, I'll just be going then.”

As he starts to walk away, she calls after him. “Wait, Eyebrows.”

He turns to regard her, and she bristles. She looks away, her hands drifting behind her back. “Not that it really matters, but do you actually have somewhere to go?”

Arthur's eyes widen, and she looks up, understanding spreading across her face. His silence must say more than any answer ever could.

“I thought so. Did you get thrown out? Because, again it doesn't really matter, but I have a pretty nice couch that works well for sleeping on if you have nowhere else to go.”

As he watches Angelique fidget, something occurs to Arthur. He hasn't thought about Alfred all day, even as he did things that he would usually do with Alfred, he never crossed his mind even once. To his surprise, he finds that it doesn't bother him at all.

“Eyebrows?”

Arthur blinks, and he relaxes his expression. 

“...if it's not too much trouble. My...roommate and I had a disagreement, so I can no longer stay there.”

Angelique's head shoots up, her eyes wide with surprise, but then she nods furiously. “It's no problem at all! You better not smoke inside and I'm in charge because it's my place, but it's no problem!”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but nods, agreeing to Angelique's terms. As he follows, on to his next temporary residence, Arthur allows himself to stop thinking about he'd been ready to resign himself to a life of misery without Alfred, and more importantly to ease that painful emptiness.

* * *

Life goes on. Life without Alfred goes on.

It was something he hadn't wanted to believe was true. Alfred was the one to make him want to leave the miserable life that was his entire childhood and adolescence, and it was Alfred who made him see that there could be so much more to life than petty crime, getting intoxicated and having sex. The thought of experiencing all of those things in life without Alfred scared him.

But life actually does go on without Alfred.

Arthur settles into a routine with Angelique—her flat is full of aquariums and various books and other trinkets related to fish. She wants to be a marine biologist, though at the moment she's only studying at a community college until she can afford to transfer to a university. The fact that the biggest aquarium with the most nasty, terrifying looking fish is across from the sofa where Arthur sleeps was unnerving at first, but Arthur has grown used to turning away from the eyes and teeth that watch him.

Angelique is every bit of a terrible cook as he is, so their meals often consist of premade food, or things like cereal or microwaveable meals. They often get into harmless spats, but Angelique isn't terrible company. Having her companionship is much better than being all on his own, Arthur finds.

But staying with Angelique will have to be temporary, because he doesn't want to sleep on a sofa forever, and now that he knows that he can keep on living and seeing the life beyond what his jaded youth gave him, he wants to keep seeking a better life for himself. He starts looking through ads for a place of his own that he can afford on his meager income, and maybe he can look into going back to school so he can get a better job to afford nicer things. Once he's secured a place for himself, maybe he can stop by Alfred's flat to pick up Hero and the things he left behind.

And it will all be okay.

It won't be perfect, because he's known since he was very young that he doesn't deserve anything near perfection, but he doesn't deserve to let his life waste away, either. He tries his best to assure himself of that fact.

Weeks pass, and the emptiness and despair that consumed him so wholly in the days after he left Alfred begin to ebb away completely.

* * *

Arthur stares at Angelique's ugly fish, wondering how it is that she can find such horrifying creatures fascinating, when a person clearing their throat interrupts him. He looks up to find Angelique watching him, a very wary look on her face.

“Hey, Eyebrows...I mean, Arthur... Can I talk to you for a second?”

Arthur nods and he drifts over to the sofa, taking a seat next to her. She bites her lip and wrings her hands, squeezing her eyes shut before she lifts her head to stare at Arthur with an almost desperate look on her face.

“I... You're a jerk and sometimes I really just want to kick your ass and tell you what a loser you are, but despite that I—” She pauses, her mouth moving soundlessly, but then she closes it and swallows, looking away. “I really like you, Arthur. I really, really like you and I wanted you to know that.” 

Arthur stays completely still at first, and he can't believe what he just heard. He repeats them in his head, trying to find a way to prove to himself that he'd just misunderstood her.

No one likes him. He's not a likeable person at all.

But there's no mistaking Angelique's words, and suddenly everything comes to light. The gifts, the way she looks at him, the way she speaks to him. All that time, and he didn't notice that she's had feelings for him all along. Because he believes so completely that no one likes him, it was easy to make himself oblivious.

He lets out a laugh, and Angelique looks hurt. He shakes his head, and he regards her for a moment. She really is a rather pretty girl, and if she can put up with him, she is obviously a very tolerant girl, as well. She's proven that her company is tolerable, too.

Imagining himself with her isn't such a farfetched idea at all.

He starts to lean towards her, and her eyes widen, but she starts leaning towards him as well. But just before he can kiss her, a sudden thought makes him freeze. 

_“Listen, Arthur. I'm sorry about whatever I did. I just...really like you, you know?”_

He sucks in a breath, turning away as he remembers the earliest days of his involvement with Alfred, when he was still despicable, but Alfred wanted to be with him anyway. He can't imagine anyone else being able to stand how he was then and still love him.

Angelique is a nice girl—a nice girl who helped him to see that his self destructive behavior was completely unnecessary and that he didn't need to act as though his life was over because of a stupid decision he made. 

But Angelique isn't Alfred. She's not the person who fell in love with him, helped him finally escape the horrible life he'd been stuck with, and loved him even through hard times and a lack of communication.

And no one else will ever be Alfred. Life goes on without him, but there will be no replacement for that measure of happiness that Alfred brought him.

“I'm sorry. I'm in love with someone else.” It comes out shaky and strained, because it's still hard for him to admit out loud how he feels about Alfred, even to someone who doesn't know him. He swallows the lump in his throat and turns to look at Angelique.

Her eyes are wide, and Arthur has to look away before her expression can turn into one of hurt and heartache. He can't love her, but he doesn't want to hurt her, either.

“...oh,” she says simply in a flat voice. He hears her shift her position, but he still doesn't look up. “Someone you're involved with?”

He nods, not completely lying, and she lets out a small noise of understanding.

“I see. She must be really nice if she puts up with you.”

She's trying to make herself feel better, he knows, and it just makes him feel guilty. He tells himself that he doesn't need to respond, because she'll never meet Alfred and she'll never know that he's in love with Alfred, so there's no need to correct her. But even if she'll never know Alfred, and even if he's never going to see Alfred again, it wouldn't be fair to lie about him.

“ _He_ ,” he says, correcting her. “And yes, he's...very nice. Too nice.”

Arthur looks at Angelique again, and her eyes are wide once more. She's probably trying to process that she just confessed her feelings to someone who's been in love with another man all along.

“So you're..?”

She doesn't finish the inquiry, but Arthur knows what she's asking anyway. 

“I've never thought about it,” he says, answering honestly. “I've always just been attracted to who I've been attracted to.”

Or rather, he always had sex with people he found at least somewhat attractive and were available. That he happened to fall in love with a man was just how things worked out. Not that it matters anymore.

“Then, your roommate?” she asks, her eyes lighting up in what must be a sudden epiphany. Arthur feels his chest tighten.

“ _Was_ my...” He can't finish, because he's never actually put a label to what Alfred was to him. Boyfriend, lover, he doesn't know. He just always knew that he was in love with Alfred and that was enough. 

It really _was_ enough.

But Angelique nods in understanding and she leans back on her hands to look at the ceiling. “So if you love him, why aren't you with him?”

“...that's none of your business,” Arthur replies, irritated. He doesn't want to talk about it. Things are fine the way they are. Things will continue to be fine, as well. But the more he thinks about it, the more he wants to be with Alfred again, trying for happiness he knows he'll only find if he's with Alfred.

“But you love him, right?”

She's not going to let it go. Even if he keeps attempting to dodge her inquiries, she won't let it go. But saying it out loud is still so hard and terrifying that he nearly snaps at her. But it doesn't matter anymore, since he'll never be with Alfred again. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “...I do. I love him.”

Silence follows at first, and Arthur opens his eyes. Angelique has a wistful smile on her face as she stares at the ceiling.

“You know, Eyebrows, you're a huge jerk and ever since I met you I've had nothing but trouble, but even you deserve a little happiness,” she says and lowers her head to glare at him.

She's letting go. Letting go of her feelings and letting go of him. Even if she's being childish about it, she's being strong. He wishes that he could be like that. Strong. 

“It's too late. I was the one who left him. There is no more opportunity to make things right.”

“You never know unless you try, Eyebrows.”

He stays silent and looks away, and at length she finally stands.

“I think, if nothing else, you should try to talk to him. But you know you can stay here as long as you need to. Night, Eyebrows.”

Arthur lifts his head to watch her retreating feet, then he finally lies back on the sofa to stare at the ceiling. His heart feels heavy, emotional baggage he can't ignore weighing it down. Yes, he's fine without Alfred. Life without Alfred will go on and he won't be miserable, but even if he doesn't _need_ him, he _wants_ Alfred. He wants to be with Alfred. He wants it to be Alfred that he keeps growing and changing with. 

But even if he's realized these things, the fact remains that he ran out on Alfred. Alfred hasn't come looking for him or attempted to contact him at all. It's too little, too late.

He rolls over, staring at the sofa, and for the first time in weeks, he misses Alfred again.

* * *

Angelique is gone by the time he's awake, even though he knows that she has the day off as well. He supposes he can wait for her return, knowing that he can pass the time reading the books she owns, but instead he takes a shower and eats a quick bowl of cereal before he pulls on his jacket and heads out. It's well into spring now, and so the need for a jacket has long since passed, but he shoves his hands into his pockets as he walks aimlessly.

His rash decision made after a terrifying encounter with Peter may have been for the best in a way. Now he knows that he'll be fine if he continues on with the way things are now, but it was at the cost of his relationship with Alfred. Had he remained with Alfred, though, his doubts would have bubbled over anyway. No matter how he looks at it, something would have been lost.

Without thinking, his walk takes him back to the building he formerly resided in, and he stands on the pathway, staring up at the various flats. This part of his life, like his childhood, has ended, but maybe, as Angelique said, he can at least try to talk to him someday, if only so that their relationship can end on more cordial terms.

As he turns to leave, he stops short and his eyes widen when he finds himself face to face with Alfred. His heart pounds as he takes in Alfred's appearance—every bit as wonderful as ever, and he finds himself wondering how he could have ever left Alfred when everything about him is what he wants in life.

Alfred's expression is one of initial shock, but it darkens exponentially shortly after, and he scoffs, looking away with a furious glare.

“I should tell you to leave. I don't need to put up with anymore stress, especially when I've finally started moving past it. I mean, you never wanted to see me again, right?” Alfred's voice is full of bitterness, and Arthur's chest tightens in guilt, knowing that's he the culprit behind Alfred's change in attitude. “I don't have to deal with someone who doesn't even want to be with—”

"I want to be with you," Arthur says in a hurry, interrupting Alfred before he can continue. He hadn't meant to say that, but now that the words are out, there's no turning back. "I don't...want to be with anyone but you."

He's careful to put emphasis on want, since that's what he has learned—that he wants to be with Alfred, not that he needs to be. He expects that Alfred will smile and pull him into a hug as he exclaims "I want to be with you, too!" the way he did outside that library over two years ago, but instead Alfred's expression stays severe and he doesn't move. Arthur's chest feels tight as they stare at each other, and perhaps it's as he thought—it's too little, too late.

Alfred shakes his head and lets out a disgusted scoff before he resumes walking towards the front entrance of the building. Arthur's heart races in panic and he sucks in a breath before he turns to address Alfred's retreating back.

“We're fools, you and I. Too afraid to actually communicate with each other so that things have to come to this. And...I am. I'm afraid, Alfred. It's my fault for letting that fear get the best of me, but I don't want to just leave things the way they are, either.” 

Alfred pauses, and Arthur swallows the lump growing in his throat, willing Alfred to turn around and give him another chance. Alfred _does_ turn around, but his expression still lacks warmth. He sighs and gestures towards the door.

“Guess you might as well come in.”

Arthur nods and doesn't hesitate to follow Alfred inside the building. Alfred opts for the stairs, and Arthur follows in silence behind him until they reach the flat, where Arthur has to wait for Alfred to unlock the door. A rapid jingling of a bell greets him when he steps inside, but even as he starts to kneel down to scoop up Hero, Alfred grabs his arm and leads him to the bedroom, where he shuts the door.

“So, you think we should communicate? Let's communicate then, Arthur,” Alfred says, a trace of coldness still remaining in his voice.

Arthur takes a cautious seat on the bed while Alfred sits at his desk, turning the chair around so they can face each other.

“I'm afraid,” Arthur says, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Ha ha, it's strange because I was never afraid of anything before I met you. Nothing mattered, so why should I have been afraid? But I'm afraid now, Alfred. That even if we were in love before, it wouldn't have lasted. You would see how ugly I really am and stop loving me, and...I didn't want to feel that pain.”

He looks up, noting the blank look on Alfred's face. When Alfred doesn't say anything, Arthur lets out a shuddering sigh and turns his attention back to his hands.

“But it seems that is a moot point, because now all I've done is succeeded in making you hate me.”

“I don't hate you.” Alfred says, and Arthur looks up at him. Alfred blinks, then his face twists into an unattractive frown. “Why would I hate you?”

“I left you and now you're acting so cold—”

“What did you expect, Arthur? You literally ran out on me and I've been trying to get my life back together ever since. Did you think I'd just be happy and everything would be okay?”

Arthur doesn't respond, because he had briefly believed that things would indeed just go back to normal, but he knows that his silence will give him away. Alfred scoffs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Things aren't that easy, Arthur. I...yeah, I'm scared, too. I've never been with anyone else before you and I alienated my parents by deciding that loving you was worth their scorn. All that time I felt like I kept trying to move closer to you, but you were just moving farther and farther away from me until you finally just left. So I just had to get over you. But now that you're back, I don't know what to think.”

“...I'm sorry,” Arthur says, even knowing that those words won't erase everything. But Alfred's expression eases somewhat, and Arthur attempts a small smile. “You may not believe me, but I love you. And being away from you only made me decide that all the pain and complications that accompany trying to love you are worth being with you.”

Alfred remains quiet again, but his expression finally softens a little, making Arthur's heart beat a little faster. It's small, but a bit of hope is there.

“You're going to hurt me and I'm going to hurt you. If we stay together, that's inevitable.”

“That's just how relationships go, isn't it? We'll have our problems, but we'll work through them. We'll piss each other off and maybe sometimes I'll act like I hate you, but even through all that I'll still keep finding things to love about you.” Alfred pauses, and he stares at the floor for a moment before he laughs and lifts his head again. Their eyes meet and the corner of Alfred's mouth lifts for a moment before his expression goes flat again. “And hey, it's kinda like what you said. I only ever want to be with you. Just you always.”

Arthur's heart starts to pound at the implication behind Alfred's words, but he can't let his guard down because of nice words filled with heart-wrenching promises. “You can't...promise things like that, Alfred. Forever.”

“No, you're right. I _can't_ promise you forever,” Alfred says, and Arthur's heart clenches. There it is, confirmation that one day things will end. Even if he knows that it won't be the end of his life completely, it still hurts to think that one day he and Alfred won't be together. “But I at least want to try for it.” 

Alfred smiles—a lopsided, sheepish sort of smile, and Arthur's breath hitches. Of course. Of course he'd say something like that and make him wonder once again how he could have ever left. His chest is painfully tight and he swallows.

“You're a fool.”

“I know.” Alfred shrugs, a sad smile on his face.

Arthur stands, and he closes the small space between them. Standing in front of Alfred, he motions for Alfred to stand, and Alfred does, though with a skeptical look on his face. When Alfred is full upright, Arthur steps forward and wraps his arms around Alfred. Alfred stiffens instantly, and Arthur wonders if it's too soon for even a hug. But with Alfred in his arms again, he finds he can't pull away—not if Alfred won't make him.

“I'm sorry,” he says and tightens his arms around Alfred, pulling him closer. Alfred stays stiff, but the fact that he isn't being pushed away prompts Arthur to continue.

“I'm sorry,” he says, repeating it over and over in a whisper against Alfred's ear. Words alone aren't enough, but in their relationship there have never been enough words, and apologizing is a good way to start.

At last Alfred lets out a shaky breath, and Arthur gasps when he's suddenly enveloped in a painfully tight embrace. Alfred's face presses against his neck, and the feeling of his glasses digging into his skin is painful, but easily ignored. Alfred begins to tremble, his breathing shaky, and Arthur presses his nose against the side of Alfred's face, closing his eyes.


	14. Marmalade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has returned, but things are still very awkward between him and Alfred. That is, until a teddy bear makes its appearance.

Arthur slowly lowers his glass of orange juice when Alfred stands up to leave, and his eyes flicker to Alfred's face before he looks down at his mostly untouched plate of food. Alfred lingers for a moment, and Arthur tightens his grip on the glass. He stares into the juice, which begins to ripple from the trembling of his hand, and doesn't look up when Alfred finally steps away.

“See you later then,” Alfred says, and Arthur waits until he hears the door close before he lets out a deep sigh.

He’s back with Alfred, but if Arthur had been expecting things to go back to the way they were before, he’s been sorely disappointed. If anything, Arthur feels as though it’s been a situation where one step forward was followed by two steps back, but he only has himself to blame. It's only been a week, but plenty can happen in a week, and they have yet to make any progress.

It’s been an unspoken agreement that they not sleep together, and so Arthur has taken up residence in the second bedroom that was originally supposed to be his before it was immediately established that they sleep in the same room in the same bed. He has no trouble sleeping at night, but he still misses having Alfred next to him and around him as he sleeps.

Perhaps more painful is the lack of all of the other things that were commonplace before Arthur decided to run out on Alfred. Their conversations, which were becoming more and more meaningful as they went along, have reverted back to awkward clipped comments and one syllable answers. The casual cuddling and kissing no longer occur, and Arthur has to admit that he’s going a bit mad wanting to touch Alfred again. 

Alfred has been spending a lot more time outside of the apartment with his friends and focusing on his schoolwork, and that part doesn’t bother Arthur in the slightest—it was one of the things he told Alfred he needed to do more of. It’s when they’re together and painfully awkward around each other that there's a problem, and of course Arthur is too afraid to fix it.

Most surprising to Arthur, however, is how much he misses Alfred calling him sweetheart—something Alfred hasn't done since Arthur's return. It's a completely ridiculous name—one he never would have imagined himself tolerating—but it's special to him. He was Alfred's sweetheart and now he isn't. Maybe he won't be ever again, no matter how they manage to patch things up between them.

Arthur picks at his food a little more before he gives up, and he gathers up his dishes to drop in the sink. It's his day off, so he opts to get the dishes washed right away. Then he'll probably get some laundry done before he meets Angelique for lunch.

He's thankful that Angelique wasn't sore at him for leaving without any notice and that she merely waved it off saying that she was glad he and Alfred came to an understanding. She doesn't know the truth, but he doesn't want her meddling again, either.

Arthur has to admit that Angelique is someone he could call a friend, which is something he's never had before. Gilbert was probably the closest thing he had, but spending time together and having casual sex out of mutual loneliness despite how much they hated each other could hardly be called a friendship. Alfred is his friend, of course, but being in love with him somewhat complicates things. True, Angelique confessed her feelings for him, but it's still nice to think that he might have a friendship with someone that is not complicated—it's just a friendship.

But Angelique is working, which means that when her lunch break is over, Arthur will have to leave. He doesn't really want to come back home after, even if Hero will be waiting for him and Hero had no problems falling back into their old routine.

Arthur rolls up his sleeves before he dunks them into the soapy water. If nothing else, he can find some way to keep himself distracted until it's late enough in the afternoon that Alfred won't be worried, but there will be less time they have to spend avoiding each other. Being at home just reminds him of how much he managed to ruin what was a good thing.

* * *

It's sitting on the kitchen counter when Arthur returns, and Arthur stiffens as he approaches it with the utmost caution.

A teddy bear.

It's cream colored with a blue plaid bow, and Arthur frowns as he lifts it slowly off the counter to bring it up to eye level. He stares at its plastic eyes and stitched on smile, and something begins to build up inside him, but it's dashed when Alfred enters the kitchen. Arthur quickly lowers the bear and looks at Alfred, though he looks away immediately after their eyes meet.

“Oh, sorry about the bear. A friend gave it to me. Pretty cute, huh?”

Arthur mumbles his dissenting opinion and pushes past Alfred to leave the kitchen.

“Oh, by the way...I'm going to be spending some time with my friends all day tomorrow, so we might not get to have breakfast together...if that's okay?”

Arthur pauses in the doorway and his chest feels tight, but he doesn't look back at Alfred. He's not sure what he's supposed to say. That no, it's not okay and Alfred is supposed to eat breakfast with him even though they won't even look at each other or say anything?

“That's fine,” he says and heads for his bedroom. Once there he lies back on the bed and sighs as he stares up at the ceiling. 

He could be trying harder. Their relationship is worth the effort— _Alfred_ is worth the effort, but that doesn't change that he's still afraid. Afraid of pushing too hard, afraid of not pushing hard enough, afraid of causing things to fall apart again.

Hero jumps onto the bed and drapes himself across Arthur's chest. Arthur has to smile a little as he scratches Hero's ears, but then he sits up and carefully takes Hero in his arms, pressing his face into Hero's warm fur. Hero patiently remains still except for his loud purring, which is what Arthur wants to feel and hear anyway. It's nice to know that he's still loved.

But Hero is not Alfred, and while Arthur will never not appreciate Hero's patience and unconditional love, there is simply no replacement for being loved and wanted by Alfred.

He has to remind himself as he lowers Hero again and settles himself with a book that he brought everything on himself. If he had just talked things over with Alfred, they probably wouldn't be where they are now.

* * *

The bear is sitting on the sofa when Arthur wakes up that morning, and once again he approaches it cautiously, as though it will do something to him if he's not careful. He sits next to it and stares at it until he lifts it into his hands again.

He scowls in response to the bear's permanent smile, but the more he stares at it, the more his expression softens. His lips start to quirk up when a meow jolts him back to reality. Hero is sitting at his feet and staring at him, and even though it's just Hero, Arthur starts to blush. He drops the bear to the side and motions for Hero to sit in his lap.

Even as he pets Hero, Arthur's eyes keep drifting down to the bear, now lying on its side. Eventually, after catching himself looking several times, Arthur stands and clears his throat. He tries to tell himself that there are chores to be done, and he even succeeds in busying himself with cleaning up, even though some of the things don't even need to be cleaned.

His thoughts keep drifting to the teddy bear, and after he finishes his sandwich, he returns to the sofa where he left the bear on its side. He looks around and lifts it into his arms, then shuffles quickly into his bedroom.

This time Arthur takes great care in making sure that not even Hero is around to see him. When he's certain that he's completely alone, he picks up the teddy bear, staring at its plastic eyes and the plaid ribbon around its neck. Its outstretched arms beg for a hug, but Arthur merely regards it with a detached stare.

But then he sits on the bed and lies down, where he hugs the bear close to him and grins like a fool as he presses his face into the bear's plush head. It's soft and comforting—an adorable stuffed animal that exists to be hugged and cuddled. Arthur allows himself to indulge in something as silly and ridiculous as cuddling a teddy bear, and he feels much better for it.

That is, until he lifts his head to find Alfred standing in the doorway with a grin so wide he looks almost manic. The blood drains from Arthur's face and he throws the bear across the room, even though he knows it's a futile attempt at pretending that he wasn't doing what he was just doing.

"Weren't you going to spend time with your friends?" he asks, trying to play it cool even though his strained voice gives him away.

"Ivan showed up and ended things early. Hell if I'm going to spend my free time with that guy." Alfred shrugs, but he continues to smile. “So...you like the teddy bear, huh?”

Arthur blushes and stares at the floor, and he frowns and shakes his head. “I don't—just because I was—”

Alfred laughs and crosses the room to pick up the bear. He brings it back and sits on the bed next to Arthur, lifting the bear to cover his face.

“Awww, how can you say no to this face, Arthur? Mr. Bear loves you!”

Arthur grabs the bear out of Alfred's hands, but looks back at the floor. “Marmalade.”

“Eh? Marmalade?”

“His name is Marmalade,” Arthur says, his blush deepening when he realizes that he just admitted that he named the teddy bear.

“Ahhh...okay, then. Marmalade!”

Arthur lifts his head, and his scowl fades when he finally _looks_ at Alfred. Alfred is beaming, and it's been such a long time that Arthur's seen that smile that he can only stare dumbfounded at him. Alfred's smile slowly fades, and this time Alfred is the one to stare at the floor.

"I think...we need to talk a little. That's how this whole mess got started, right? Because we don't always communicate. So I think we should work on getting better at that."

“Yes,” Arthur says, choking on the word a little. “Yes, I suppose we do.”

“I've been doing what you said and spending more time with my friends and paying attention to my schoolwork, and I think that's a good thing and I'm going to keep on doing it, but I don't want it to mean that I never spend any time with you anymore. We haven't really been doing that since you...came back.”

Alfred lifts his head to smile sadly at him, and Arthur swallows, unable to respond.

"And I've been thinking... I really shouldn't be a father. If school keeps going well and I achieve my goal, I won't be home all that much anyway, right? So what kind of father would I be?"

Arthur chooses not to comment on that, since it affects him as well. Yes, Alfred will spend plenty of time away from home if he gets his way, and that means Arthur will be separated from him during those times. He'd rather not think about it.

"I could always volunteer for one of those mentor programs, so I could help a kid who really needs someone to look up to," Alfred says, leaning back on his hands to stare at the ceiling.

“...you'd be very well suited for that,” Arthur says. He could have used someone like Alfred when he was growing up. If he'd had a well adjusted person like Alfred looking out for him, he probably wouldn't be anywhere near as messed up as he is now.

“And,” Alfred says, lowering his head to look at Arthur again. “You're right. You don't have to tell me about your past. It doesn't change who you are now, so I won't try to pressure you about it anymore. If you ever want to tell me, I'll be happy to listen, but I'll be fine if you never do.” 

“Alfred...”

“That's all I wanted to say, and I'll keep trying to get better at saying things like that. So I hope you'll feel okay talking to me about things, too.” Alfred's face softens into a small smile, and he lets out a small chuckle and scratches at his head. “I'd prefer if we didn't keep avoiding each other, sweetheart.”

Arthur's heart flutters. "So I'm still 'sweetheart', am I?" 

Alfred blinks and he looks confused for a moment, before he grins sheepishly. "Ah, yeah, of course. You've always been my sweetheart."

Arthur meets Alfred's eyes, and this time he doesn't look away. Alfred's eyes search his, and Arthur swallows at the same time as Alfred. 

“I want to kiss you,” Arthur says, believing it best to ask permission instead of simply assuming that it's okay to do so.

Alfred's cheeks turn pink and he fidgets, and Arthur can't help but feel a little pleased that he can still manage to make Alfred feel flustered. 

“Yeah, okay. Sure,” Alfred says and looks at him expectantly, cheeks still pink.

Arthur nods, placing the bear to the side before he shifts closer to Alfred. They've kissed many, many times before, and yet Arthur's heart is pounding like he's an awkward teenager about to try kissing for the very first time. The look on Alfred's face reflects similar feelings of nervousness. Arthur leans forward and presses a quick, closed mouth peck to Alfred's lips before pulling back

It's not enough. Alfred is watching him with intent focus, his lips parting slightly as Arthur regards him. Arthur swallows then lifts a hand to touch Alfred's cheek. Alfred inhales sharply, but doesn't pull away, so Arthur leans in again to kiss him proper.

He draws his fingers along Alfred's cheek as their lips move together and sighs when Alfred touches his face as well. Arthur starts to lose himself to kissing Alfred, but when he opens his mouth to drag his tongue along Alfred's lips, he feels Alfred stiffen. He instantly recoils and pulls away. Too much.

Alfred doesn't look angry, though, and Arthur contemplates voicing another of his desires.

_I want to sleep with you._ But that might be taken the wrong way. He doesn't want Alfred to feel that he's being pressured into sex, but he also doesn't want Alfred to think that he's obligated to hold him if they sleep together. Just to be near Alfred again would be enough.

But he can't think of a good way to phrase his request, so he remains quiet.

“I'll be studying in the kitchen if you need me. Let's eat dinner together, all right?” Alfred asks, and Arthur nods his agreement. Alfred smiles softly before he leaves the room.

Arthur watches him leave, but before he can start to feel upset, he lifts the bear—Marmalade—to eye level. It smiles at him and he smiles back, and with Alfred busy in the kitchen, he allows himself to hug the bear once more.


	15. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wants to be tied up and blindfolded during sex and Alfred obliges him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may seem gratuitous, but it does have a point. It is also very much NSFW.

Arthur furrows his brow as he looks at Alfred over the rim of his teacup for what has been several times in the past hour. Alfred is deep in concentration as he assembles what looks like hundreds of nonsensical pieces to Arthur. When he even tried to tease Alfred about playing with toys, Alfred insisted that his model airplane set wasn't a toy, but a piece of history. When Alfred began to explain the story behind the plane in great detail, Arthur excused himself to make a cup of tea.

Arthur had been under the impression that Alfred's assembly project would be a short-lived, simple affair, but over an hour later, Alfred still has what only vaguely looks like a plane among a sea of other tiny parts. He'd be hard pressed to admit it, but Arthur finds himself a little jealous of the plane, considering how Alfred is working with such meticulous precision, with his tongue peeking out between his lips as he concentrates on putting the pieces together. Arthur has been starved for Alfred's touch, and he glares at the scattered pieces on the kitchen table, thinking that Alfred's hands should be on him instead.

Alfred doesn't even look at him when Arthur lifts his head to stare at him, his cheeks burning in embarrassment at what ridiculous thoughts he's having, and after no acknowledgment from Alfred, Arthur finishes off his tea in one gulp. He lifts Hero, dozing in his lap, into his arms as he stands up. There's still not a word from Alfred as Arthur leaves the kitchen and heads for their bedroom, but Arthur supposes he shouldn't feel too put out. Alfred is probably still a little angry with him, and it's certainly his right. It would be foolish to think that they would go right back to cuddling and making love as though nothing happened. 

That doesn't stop Arthur from being randy, however, and although he's managed to channel his frustrations into other activities for the most part, he's bound to reach the point where he simply jumps Alfred. Never mind that Alfred has been more serious about his studies or spending time doing other things that do not involve Arthur at all, or that Arthur wouldn't ever force Alfred into something he didn't want. 

Try as he might, Arthur can't concentrate on his book, especially when Hero leaves him, presumably to go harass Iggy instead. All he can think of as he lies on their bed is Alfred taking such care to assemble his model airplane, and how he would much rather that Alfred pay that much attention to him instead. He's so caught up in thinking about it that the cold feeling of his own hand against his skin startles him. He groans in frustration that he's reached the point where he's feeling so needy that he's taken to fantasizing about Alfred when Alfred is just in the other room.

Regardless, Arthur slides off the bed and makes his way to the toilet, where he pushes his trousers and boxers down. He bites his lip before he starts stroking at his cock, hating how pathetic it is that he needs to masturbate like this. He uses one hand to brace himself against the wall while he conjures up a fantasy to help him along.

Alfred has gotten bolder, so he would hold Arthur from behind, one hand roaming over his chest while the other strokes at his cock. Arthur closes his eyes and imagines the soft kisses on his face and neck, Alfred's nose brushing against the skin behind his ear, hot breath against his shoulder.

“Feeling good, sweetheart?” Alfred would say, and Arthur chokes, the hand against the wall clenching into a fist while the other hand strokes faster. He's close, and he starts moaning Alfred's name.

His eyes snap open when another hand joins his, and he whips around to find Alfred, the real one, standing there with a stern look on his face.

“Doing this without me, Arthur?” 

Arthur sputters, incoherent from both embarrassment and arousal, and his cheeks burn. He starts to stumble away, but Alfred catches him from behind. Arthur freezes.

“I thought we were going to work on this communication thing, Arthur. You should have said something.”

“You were busy. I didn't want to interrupt,” Arthur says at last, his voice a little strained.

“Not _that_ busy,” Alfred says, the pout coming through in his voice even if Arthur can't see it. Arthur turns around in Alfred's arms to see that Alfred is indeed pouting. Arthur's expression softens and he places a hand on Alfred's cheek.

“...I thought you didn't want to,” Arthur says in a quiet voice.

“Funny, I thought you didn't want to, either.” Alfred chuckles slightly. “We really do need to work on communicating better, all right? Well, I can finish up my plane later, so.”

Arthur lets out an embarrassing yelp when he's lifted into Alfred's arms and carried back into their bedroom, but he's too startled to react properly until he's already being eased out of Alfred's arms. He scowls at the easy smile Alfred gives him as he's lowered onto the bed.

“And what, may I ask, was that for?”

“It's been awhile, so...I want to do this right.” Alfred's smile becomes a little shy and awkward, and his face turns a bright red. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Arthur doesn't need any further explanation. His arms are around Alfred, pulling him into an eager kiss. He practically rips off his t-shirt when Alfred pushes it up, and he lets out a shaky groan and shivers when Alfred's hands are on his chest. He pulls away from Alfred and works at the buttons of his shirt. He pauses when he remembers that Alfred's wearing a tie again, and he lifts his head to grin at Alfred.

“Will you do something for me, Alfred?”

Alfred lets out a shaky breath and nods.

“Tie me up.”

“Tie you up?” Alfred blinks, then lets out a small laugh that fades away when Arthur doesn't start laughing or saying that he's just joking. “Are you serious? That's...but...”

Arthur's expression goes somber as he removes Alfred's tie and places it in his hands. Alfred gives him a desperate look and Arthur returns the look with a fond smile. “It's all right, Alfred. I...trust you.”

Alfred's eyes widen, but he nods slowly. Arthur nods as well as he scoots back until he hits the headboard of the bed, where he crosses his wrists above his head and gives Alfred an expectant look.

“If you want to stop at any time...” Alfred says, still looking very unsure of himself. His hands shake as he holds the tie, and Arthur can't help but roll his eyes.

“It will be fine, Alfred.” He tries to sound confident, but he doesn't really know how he'll react when his hands are really tied up. He could react badly again for all he knows, and that will just scare Alfred. On the other hand, it could go very well, too. And he does trust Alfred. It's hard not to trust someone who wants to try for “forever” with him.

“Lucky for me I was in Boys Scouts for awhile and can tie some mean knots,” Alfred says as he works at tying Arthur's wrists to the metal of the headboard with the tie. “Ha ha, I feel like I should have a whip and leather, too, or something.”

“I would be fine with that, as well,” Arthur replies, grinning at Alfred as he pulls away. He clenches and unclenches his fists, finding that so far he has no issues with being tied up.

“...god, you're weird.” Alfred shakes his head, then pulls off his glasses and places his hands on Arthur's hips, pushing his trousers off his legs. “So now that I've got you at my mercy, sweetheart, what shall I do to you?”

Alfred is just teasing, and Arthur knows it, but he really wouldn't mind being at Alfred's mercy, because he knows that Alfred wouldn't abuse the situation. He can trust Alfred, not just when it comes to sex, and he wants to prove that to Alfred and to himself.

“Do you still have that blindfold?” 

Alfred's smile fades instantly, and that desperate look returns to his face. “Now that's really too much, Arthur. I don't–”

“I wouldn't ask if I wasn't all right with it, Alfred,” Arthur replies, feeling a little impatient.

Alfred doesn't move at first, and Arthur starts to scowl at him, but then he reaches over into the nightstand and pulls out the blindfold. “Seriously. If you want me to stop at any time, just tell me and I'll stop.”

Arthur nods, and Alfred leans over him with the blindfold. Alfred seems to have learned his lesson from last time, because Alfred kisses him as he ties the fabric around his eyes, leaving Arthur no chance to doubt that he's with Alfred and not in some terrifying place in the dark. Alfred finally pulls away, and for a moment, Arthur has a twinge of fear that he is really is at Alfred's mercy – without the use of his hands or eyes, he's helpless. A cold chill goes down his spine, and he opens his mouth to call it off, but then Alfred's lips are on his neck – gentle, sweet. Arthur takes a shaky breath and forces himself to concentrate on Alfred and nothing else.

It becomes easier as Alfred continues to kiss him and touch him, and Arthur trembles under the attention he's been craving. Somehow the feeling is amplified by the loss of his vision, and his breathing goes shallow. Even though Arthur can't stop him, Alfred avoids Arthur's left side, which makes Arthur's heart ache at the consideration he's being shown. He can't believe that he could even doubt his feelings for Alfred and, worse, doubt Alfred's feelings for him. If the end comes, it comes, but he won't dwell on that anymore. No matter their problems, they want to be together.

Arthur sucks in a breath when he feels Alfred's hands against the inside of his thighs, and the breath is cut off in a choke when Alfred's mouth closes around his cock.

“Alfred, you don't–” He can't even finish his protest, as overwhelmed as he is by sensation, and it's cut off with another choke. Blowjobs are one thing neither has ever attempted, and he always assumed it would remain that way. But now, Alfred is holding down his hips, keeping him from any erratic thrusting, and sucking at his cock. Arthur writhes, his breaths coming out in shallow pants, until he feels that he's close again and finds enough of a voice to gasp Alfred's name.

But as Arthur loses himself to the pleasure of Alfred's mouth on him, Alfred's hands slip, allowing Arthur's hips to thrust roughly upwards. Suddenly Alfred's mouth is gone, and coughing replaces the relative silence in the room.

“Alfred?” 

Arthur's answer is more coughing that finally fades into silence. The silence lasts for a few moments, and panic replaces any other emotion Arthur is feeling.

“ _Alfred_?” he asks again, his voice sharp with worry. He struggles against his bindings, ignoring the painful way it makes the tie dig into his wrists. For all he knows, Alfred is in need of help and he's lying there tied up and blindfolded, unable to do anything.

When there's still no answer, Arthur thrashes in a desperate bid to free himself, stopping only when fingers touch his cheek and soft kisses are pressed against his jaw.

“Shh, sweetheart. I'm okay.”

Arthur stills, and he frowns even though he can't see Alfred's face. Alfred kisses the corner of his mouth, but Arthur's frown just deepens.

“Sorry, that didn't go the way I wanted it to,” Alfred says, and lets out a small, self-deprecating laugh. He's not apologizing over and over and trying to stop completely, however, and once again Arthur realizes just how much bolder and more confident Alfred has become. Alfred kisses him, and he tries to ignore the rather strange experience of tasting himself in Alfred's mouth.

When Alfred breaks the kiss, Arthur hears the rustle of fabric, and then the sound of the nightstand drawer being opened. Alfred kisses him again, and this time it's Alfred's bare chest pressed against his own. As usual, Alfred is trying to distract him while he fumbles with the lubricant and condom, and because he can't see what Alfred is doing, it's easier to focus on kissing Alfred and ignore the always uncomfortable sensation of being stretched.

“Still all right?” Alfred asks, and Arthur frowns again.

“Just get on with it,” Arthur replies, and Alfred chuckles. Arthur sucks in a breath when his hips are lifted off the bed, and once again a twinge of fear rushes through him. Alfred is supporting him with one arm, though, and the reason for his elevation off the bed becomes clear when Alfred starts to push his cock inside of him – slow and easy.

Everything is going to be extra sore later, Arthur realizes, but at the moment he doesn't care. He chews on his lip as Alfred rolls his hips, allowing him to adjust. It really hasn't been that long at all, but Arthur has still missed this – making love with Alfred. That love and consideration that Alfred always shows him is something he's grateful to have in his life. He moves his hips, prompting Alfred to continue, and Alfred leans over him to kiss at his bound arms as he starts a somewhat erratic rhythm.

If Arthur was better with words, he'd be able to tell Alfred just how much he means to him. More than anything now, he wants to open up his heart to Alfred completely, because he knows that Alfred won't hurt him. He can trust Alfred with everything, knowing that Alfred wants the two of them to be together forever, even if there's no such thing.

“Arthur,” Alfred says, his voice hoarse from his shallow breathing. Arthur groans and moves his hips to meet Alfred's thrusts, the tie occasionally digging into his wrists when one of them is especially vigorous. 

Alfred adjusts their positions, allowing Alfred to better hit Arthur's prostate and reducing Arthur to quivering from pleasure. When Arthur feels Alfred's hot breath on his face, Arthur strains to reach up, wanting to kiss Alfred, and Alfred obliges him, covering his mouth with a sloppy kiss.

It's Alfred who comes first, whimpering Arthur's name against his shoulder, but he doesn't allow Arthur to go wanting. Arthur's hips are lowered back onto the bed, and Alfred's hand is soon wrapped around his cock. It only takes a couple strokes before Arthur comes, too, his world reduced to a haze of pleasure.

Arthur squints when his vision suddenly returns, the blindfold removed by a beaming Alfred. Arthur tries to catch his breath as Alfred works at undoing the knot in his tie to free Arthur's hands once more. The second the tie is removed, Arthur's arms are around Alfred, pulling him into a kiss. Alfred returns the embrace and pulls Arthur into his arms, kissing back for all he's worth.

“How was that?” Alfred asks when they finally part.

“...don't get cocky,” Arthur replies, unwilling to say that it was amazing and that trusting Alfred not to take advantage of him in a compromised position was a good idea, after all.

“That good, huh? Awesome.” Alfred chuckles and kisses Arthur's nose in response to the irritated look he gives him. Alfred lifts up one of Arthur's hands and kisses his wrist, which is an angry red. “This will probably hurt later.”

“I don't mind.” And he doesn't, because he's experienced far worse than a little irritated skin. As he thought, it was worth being tied up, as well.

“Mm, I should probably get back to my plane,” Alfred says in a drowsy voice and rests his head on Arthur's chest. Arthur lifts a hand to stroke through Alfred's damp hair.

“Alfred?”

“Mm?”

Arthur chews on his lip, anxiety he can't suppress bubbling in his chest. Of course he can trust Alfred, but working up the nerve to give Alfred his heart is a completely different story. But the more he delays it, the harder it will be. If he can tell Alfred everything, then he'll take care of the last of his greatest fears about their relationship. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will away any lingering doubts he has about what would happen if he finally told the entire truth.

“I want to tell you something,” he blurts out in a rush.

There's no answer, and Arthur realizes that Alfred is asleep, his breathing slow and even. He lets out a sigh and kisses Alfred's forehead. He almost managed it. As he adjusts to a more comfortable position, he tries to assure himself that the next time will be in the near future.

The last thing holding him back won't hold him back for much longer if he can help it.


	16. Stuck in Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is the one to fall ill, and while his illness drops his inhibitions about affection, it also makes him reveal something else he’s been holding back.

His head hurts. His thoughts are fuzzy as he tries to lift himself up from his prone position on the sofa, but he groans as pain shoots through him from even such a small movement. He lowers his head again, and he blinks as what looks like a figure appears in front of him and speaks in a gruff voice.

“Oi, brat. Get your arse up and eat this soup I made for you.”

His eyes close before he can respond, and he falls into a deep sleep.

* * *

Alfred frowns as he steps inside the apartment and tosses his backpack to the side. He left early that morning to study for his finals—even before Arthur was awake. His attempts to send Arthur text messages throughout the day went unanswered, and in the end he opted to forgo an evening study session in favor of returning home to find out what had happened to keep Arthur from contacting him.

He starts to call Arthur's name, but he spots Arthur on the couch before he gets the first syllable out. He often finds Arthur on the couch reading or sewing, but not sprawled on his stomach looking almost lifeless.

The blood drains from Alfred's face as he crosses the room with long strides and falls to his knees next to the couch. He lifts a shaking hand to touch Arthur, and he's relieved to find that Arthur is warm. That relief gives way to a different kind of concern when Alfred realizes that Arthur is _too_ warm. He brushes the back of his hand against what is visible of Arthur's forehead, and it's burning hot to the touch. Alfred would almost laugh at how his finals seem to cause illness if not for the fact that Arthur is sick and that makes Alfred nearly sick with worry.

“Arthur,” he says, gently shaking Arthur's shoulder. Arthur groans and stirs, but he furrows his brow and turns his face into the seat cushion. Alfred bites his lip. He wants to move Arthur to their bed, but Arthur's current position makes that a little hard. He gently shakes Arthur's shoulder again, this time speaking a little louder. “Hey, Arthur. Wake up.”

Arthur groans again, but this time he lifts his head, wincing as he does, and turns it to the side so their eyes meet. Arthur's eyes are unfocused for a moment as they stare at each other, but then Arthur's eyes widen with sudden focus, then immediately soften.

Alfred has known Arthur for almost three years, and in that time he's managed to see more emotion expressed on Arthur's face than the deadpan detachment he always used to show.

But in all of that time, he's never seen anything close to the expression currently on Arthur's face. If Alfred thinks about it, he can only describe that look as complete and utter adoration. It's such blatant and open love that Alfred actually feels a little embarrassed and his cheeks begin to warm.

“Alfred,” Arthur says with such relief—and again love—that Alfred is momentarily caught off guard, allowing Arthur the opportunity to sit up too quickly, clutching at his head in pain as he does so. Alfred mentally berates himself, and then slips an arm around Arthur.

“Hey, hey—easy, sweetheart. Come here.” Alfred eases Arthur into his arms and lifts him from the couch. Rather than be chastised for doing that, Arthur looks disoriented at first, but then his expression softens back into that adoring look. When Arthur starts nuzzling his chest, Alfred clears his throat and looks away, walking with determined steps toward their bedroom. Once there, he gently lowers Arthur to the bed and removes what extra clothing he can, Arthur trying to nuzzle against him all the while, before he pulls the covers over Arthur's prone body. Arthur groans and rolls onto his side to face Alfred, his brows furrowing until his gaze settles on Alfred. For a moment they just stare at each other in silence.

“I love you,” Arthur says, staring up at Alfred with soft eyes and a small, but affectionate smile.

Alfred's heart flutters, as it always does whenever Arthur says that to him, and a goofy smile spreads onto his face. He scratches his head and sits on the bed next to Arthur so he can ruffle his hair, and Arthur immediately shifts over to snuggle against Alfred's leg. Alfred smiles and wraps an arm around Arthur's shoulder.

When he was a kid, girls were gross—they had cooties, they didn't play the same games, they weren't allowed in the things boys did. When he hit puberty, things began to change. Girls were fascinating instead of disgusting, and the conversations he had with other guys began to reflect that. They wondered about sex and what it would be like to touch a girl's breasts, and eventually that gave way to wondering who would get laid first and how fuckable various girls in their school were. But he'd been too occupied with making sure that he pleased his parents and planned for his future to put a lot of effort into dating, thus his very short lived romances with a handful of girls.

Then he met Arthur. While other people at that age may claim that they found the love of their life, very few can actually say that their significant other is honestly the person they want to spend the rest of their life with. Alfred went from being behind to far ahead of everyone else. No matter how unconventional his relationship with Arthur has been since the very start, he's committed. They're committed.

Which means being patient, even when he feels that his patience has run out, and that he won't ever give up, no matter how difficult or trying it may be at times.

Arthur's breathing eases into a steady rhythm, and Alfred watches him sleep for a moment before he carefully slips off the bed and out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Falling in love and committing himself to Arthur do not mean that he lets all of his hard work go to waste. From the moment he first saw a picture of a nebula he knew he had to go into space. Watching Neil Armstrong be the first man to walk on the moon never failed to be exhilarating and every time he was exposed to something related to space his desire to be an astronaut grew. He'd explore the galaxy and build the first colonies on Mars. He'd have the best view of every place on earth as he watched the sunrise from his space station.

It is always those thoughts that motivate Alfred when he starts to feel weary or discouraged with his coursework. Thinking about his eventual career can get him through the most tedious and boring of classes. The promise of summer and a temporary reprieve from the daily grind of school and work on top of a complicated relationship give him even more of an incentive to make it through the last grueling days of finals.

After awhile, though, reading over his calculus notes and materials while only shifting slightly in his chair at the kitchen table begins to take its toll. Alfred drops his pencil and stretches, yawning deeply before he lets his head fall back. Lying in bed would be a much more comfortable place to study, Alfred decides, but he doesn't want to disturb Arthur if he's sick and needs sleep. After a time he realizes that he has his head hanging over the back of the chair and it's a far more uncomfortable position than stooped over his calculus notes, and he rubs at his neck as he sits up. The best course of action would be to use the spare bedroom so he can study without disturbing Arthur's rest. Satisfied with that conclusion, Alfred gathers up his work and carries it into the room, where he flops down onto the bed.

Just as he lies down and settles himself with his calculus book, a loud thump makes him freeze. The sound is followed by another thump and heavy, shuffling footfalls. Alfred's blood turns to ice, his thoughts immediately turning to zombies. As the noises continue Alfred's mind races in a panic of what he can use for a weapon and whether or not he can save Arthur. There's a thump near the door, and Alfred clutches his book in preparation of an attack.

But instead of a walking corpse, Arthur appears in the doorway, bleary-eyed and dragging his feet. Alfred lets out a relieved sigh, but worry immediately replaces that relief.

“Arthur, what are you doing?” he asks, setting the book to the side and sitting up.

Arthur doesn't respond and fixes unfocused eyes on him before he takes heavy swaying steps in his direction. Not a zombie, but his movements are very reminiscent of one. Before Alfred can stand up to stop him, Arthur climbs onto the bed and snuggles against him. Alfred blinks down at Arthur, wrapped around him and nuzzling him, and once again his face burns. Even at his most affectionate, Arthur is still reserved—the person snuggling him with an enamored look on his face is hardly like the Arthur he knows. On some level he's pleased with the turn of events—he just wishes that it didn't have to be at the cost of Arthur's health.

He sighs and, with some effort, manages to ease out of Arthur's embrace enough that he can maneuver himself off the bed and lift Arthur into his arms. Arthur's eyelids droop, but his expression continues to be full of adoration.

“I'm going to have to stay with you, aren't I?” Alfred asks with a small smile.

“I love you,” Arthur replies, and Alfred can't help but grin like an idiot. He clears his throat and is careful not to bump Arthur against walls or doorways as he carries him back to their bedroom.

This time he lies on the bed, as well, allowing Arthur the opportunity to cling to him and drift back to sleep. His study session has been cut short, but he's confident that he knows the material well enough by now that he can sacrifice a bit of studying time to keep Arthur comfortable. A fond smile spreads on Alfred's face and he runs his fingers through Arthur's hair.

No, one dream doesn't have to be sacrificed to achieve the other one.

Alfred looks over his shoulder at the clock and decides that it's not too early to go to bed. Early to bed, early to rise, and all the better for his last final of the year. He removes his clothes as best he can without disturbing Arthur, then settles himself in as comfortable a position as he can manage with Arthur already wrapped around him. Despite all of the thoughts racing through his head, sleep comes easily.

* * *

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Arthur shifting wildly next to him, and he squints to see in the darkness without his glasses on. It's a futile effort and he gropes behind him for the lamp switch, then his glasses. When he focuses, he sees Arthur tossing and turning, his eyebrows furrowed and sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. His hands occasionally clutch at the sheets, but for the most part he just twists as though in terrible pain.

“Arthur, sweetheart, wake up,” Alfred says, reaching out to shake Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's thrashing gets more violent, and Alfred shakes Arthur again with a little more force.

Arthur's eyes snap open, wide with fear before he looks at Alfred, then the fear is replaced with confusion.

“Alfred?”

“Hey, are you all right? You looked like you were having a rough time.” Alfred watches Arthur for any sign of anything amiss, but any panic on Arthur's face is vanishing in favor of that dreamy adoring look.

“I'm fine. I'm...” Arthur trails off, shifting to drape himself across Alfred. “I'm fine.”

Alfred doesn't quite believe it, but Arthur's eyes are already fluttering shut, and the middle of the night is hardly the time to be arguing. Regardless, Alfred refuses to succumb to sleep until he's certain that Arthur is sleeping peacefully. Then and only then does he pull off his glasses and switch off the lamp.

It's his alarm clock that wakes him next, and Arthur is still sprawled on top of him—too warm. When he tries to move, Arthur's arm tightens around him and he makes a small noise of protest. He is definitely still sick if he's acting this clingy. Had it been any other day, he probably would have allowed Arthur to hold him in bed, potential to catch his illness be damned, but “my boyfriend is sick and I want to stay in bed with him” wouldn't be an acceptable excuse for missing his final. He extracts Arthur's hands and slips out of bed.

He barely gets beyond feeding the cats and pouring himself a bowl of cereal before Arthur appears, dragging his feet and looking in a fog.

“Sweetheart, go back to sleep,” Alfred says, sighing but turning and opening his arms to accept Arthur in the hug he reaches for.

“Hmm, I don't want to,” Arthur replies, closing his eyes and leaning into Alfred's embrace.

“You're not going to get better if you don't get some rest. I'll even bring you breakfast in bed!”

“Hmm.”

“Can I eat my breakfast, at least?”

That, at least, gets through to Arthur, and Alfred finds himself released so he can take his bowl of cereal to the table. Arthur sits across from him and watches him with a hazy, but admiring look. Alfred blushes as he digs into his corn flakes. Had he retained any lingering doubts about Arthur's love for him, it's difficult to believe anything else when Arthur is looking at him like he's everything that is wonderful about the world. After years of waiting for Arthur to open up to him more, all of this sudden affection is almost too much.

“I have my last final, but I'll be back as soon as I can. Think you'll be okay until then?” he asks between bites of cereal.

Arthur blinks, looking deep in thought before he responds. “Yes, I'll be fine. I'll call in sick...”

Alfred smiles and quickly finishes off the remaining cereal and milk in the bowl. When he stands to put the bowl in the sink, Arthur staggers to his feet, as well. Alfred sighs and runs a hand through his hair, feeling somewhat guilty that Arthur wants so much to be near him and he's going to leave.

Instead of zombies, Alfred is reminded of a puppy—the adoration, the need for affection, and the way he follows no matter where he goes. It would be adorable if Arthur was healthy.

“I'm gonna take a shower, so don't follow me this time, all right?”

Arthur gives him a vacant look, but nods. The moment Alfred leaves the kitchen, however, he hears Arthur shuffling after him. He makes it only a short distance to their bedroom before he turns around, allowing Arthur the chance to reach for him, snuggling against his chest with a content smile.

“My love,” Arthur says in a quiet voice, and Alfred's heart skips a beat. How cruel, that he has a calculus final to take when he could be staying home to take care of Arthur and enjoy unabashed adoration in return.

“Sweetheart,” he says, returning the pet name, and lifts a hand to ruffle Arthur's hair. “I'll be back as soon as I can, all right? But I really need to leave, and you should get as much sleep as you can. Hero'll keep you company, I bet.”

Arthur is quiet at first, but then he pulls away with a small nod. He clutches at his head as he drags his feet the remaining distance to their bedroom. Alfred follows after and watches as Arthur falls limply onto the bed. When he doesn't move any further, Alfred helps him under the covers. As expected, Hero appears and plants himself near Arthur's head, and Arthur turns his face against Hero's fur. If Hero's settled, Arthur is less likely to try to get up and move around.

As Alfred showers, he's still afraid that Arthur might stumble in, clothes and all, and join him. A cuddly Arthur is one thing, a cuddly Arthur where the potential to slip and fall exists is something else entirely. Arthur doesn't come in, and he's still in bed when Alfred gets out and retrieves his clothing—not asleep, but looking too drowsy and weak to do anything. Alfred pulls his hoodie over his head and regards Arthur, who gives him such an anxious look of longing that Alfred has to step over to his side. He runs his hand through Arthur's hair and lets it linger there as he bends down to kiss Arthur's forehead.

“I'll be back in a few hours. Get some rest in the meantime.”

He pulls away and Arthur sits up, clutching his hand. For a brief instant Alfred doesn't want to leave, but he gently pulls his hand out of Arthur's grasp and turns to leave, giving Arthur an apologetic smile as he steps away. He pauses in the hallway for a moment to wait to see if Arthur will follow him. When he doesn't, he quickly puts on his shoes and grabs his backpack. One more final until freedom.

* * *

Alfred feels like flying. His finals are done, and while he doesn’t know his final grades yet, he’s confident that his hard work throughout the semester will have paid off and he can enjoy his summer without any worry about the upcoming year.

His euphoria fades somewhat when he remembers that Arthur is sick at home, and that he’ll have to miss work until he’s well enough. Alfred should also miss a little work to take care of Arthur, but that leads to thoughts of just how _much_ work they can miss before it becomes a financial issue. They can only cut so many corners, after all. That train of thought leads to Alfred contemplating where he can find full time work during the summer so he can pad his savings account in preparation for situations like these where it would help to have extra money to fall back on.

First things first, Alfred determines that although he’s already missed work to study for finals, he can manage to skip a couple more days—enough for Arthur to get past the worst of his illness. If nothing else, he can always ask his parents for help, even if he doesn’t want to resort to relying on them if he can help it.

After saying goodbye to friends returning home to the summer and asking for additional time off from work, Alfred opts to swing by the grocery store for the proper supplies needed for caring for a sick person—orange juice, chicken noodle soup, painkillers and more orange juice.

While he’s browsing the selection of juices and trying to decide whether he should get orange juice with no pulp, a little pulp, a lot of pulp, fortified with vitamin d or organic, he overhears a couple of the employees stocking the same aisle talking about Arthur and questioning his whereabouts.

“He’s sick,” he says, and both employees turn to look at him. One of them—a pretty girl with her haired tied in pigtails—narrows her eyes at him, then turns and says something to the other employee before she motions for Alfred to follow her to an empty part of the store. She looks around and speaks in a hushed tone.

“You’re his boyfriend, right?”

A feeling akin to being punched in the stomach hits Alfred, but the girl shakes her head and smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry, Arthur already told me. He’s kind of a jerk, but he’s a good guy. I just wanted to know if you were going to take good care of him.”

The way she says it accompanied with the look on her face makes Alfred think that she’s being protective of Arthur, and that makes a twinge of jealousy flare up inside of him. Of course he’s happy if Arthur is making friends beyond him, because there really is nothing like having good friends to depend on, but then there’s the fact that the person standing before him is a pretty girl expressing her concern for Arthur’s wellbeing.

“Of course I will,” he says, clutching at the carton of low pulp orange juice in what he hopes is a way that expresses that yes, he’s Arthur’s boyfriend and it’s going to stay that way forever. Of course he knows that it’s nothing like that and he’s just a kid with a carton of orange juice feeling jealous because he doesn’t like thinking about Arthur wanting someone else.

“Tell him Angelique says hello, okay?” she says with a smile, which only makes her look prettier. 

But Alfred can be a gentleman when he wants to, and so he returns her smile and nods.

“Sure. Hopefully he’ll be back to work soon.”

She nods and walks away, and Alfred quickly backtracks to his basket already full of soup cans and bottles of ibuprofen. All he wants now is to get home and take care of Arthur. He skips the careful browsing and finishes his shopping in a hurry.

Arthur is asleep when he returns home, but it’s not peaceful slumber he sees when he walks into their bedroom. Arthur is tossing and turning again, sweat dripping down his face as he babbles things that Alfred can’t quite make out. As he gets closer, he can hear what Arthur is saying a little more clearly.

“Bastard. Didn’t touch anything. You’re the worthless one.” 

He suddenly thrashes violently and a look of such terrible pain is on his face that Alfred rushes forward and shakes him.

“Arthur, wake up. Wake up.”

Arthur snaps upright with a gasp, his expression wild. His eyes are wide with fear, but no—fear isn't the right word. It's terror in Arthur's eyes, and he heaves as he struggles with the sheets he’s entangled in.

Alfred reaches out to touch Arthur, but it’s the wrong thing to do. Arthur nearly jumps, the sheets he’s already tangled in wrapping tighter around him as he struggles to get away. He almost falls off the bed in his panic, but his eyes are looking without seeing—still stuck in a nightmare.

“Sweetheart, shhh,” Alfred says, and he remembers how Arthur had panicked when first blindfolded, but how his presence had managed to calm him. If he can just get Arthur to realize who is really with him, he can banish whatever is troubling him.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, sitting on the bed and reaching out a cautious hand to stroke Arthur’s cheek. Arthur flinches and thrashes away, but the shock of someone touching him seems to wake him, because his eyes blink into focus and settle on Alfred.

“Alfred.” His voice is little more than a weak croak, but he scrambles across the bed in a way that is anything but weak. Alfred cries out when Arthur clings to him, digging his nails into Alfred's back. Despite his confusion and worry, he wraps his arms around Arthur and rubs his back while Arthur heaves and trembles violently, tightening his already painful grip.

“Don't leave me. Don't leave me. Don't leave me,” Arthur says over and over, hiding his face against Alfred’s neck.

“I'm not—I won't leave you, Arthur.” Alfred is at a loss of what to do or say, but it’s a moot point. Arthur soon goes limp against him, and Alfred realizes that Arthur has fallen asleep again.

He’s not sure what just happened, but he can wager a guess. That was genuine terror, the likes of which can only come from having been in a situation that elicited that kind of response. Alfred thinks of the scars on Arthur’s body, and he wonders if Arthur was dreaming about how he received them. He looks down at Arthur’s sleeping form and his chest feels tight.

It’s not just that Arthur is so delirious that he’s become affectionate, he’s also sick enough that he can’t stop his mind from plaguing him with nightmares full of pain and fear. Alfred lowers his head to rest against Arthur’s and he closes his eyes. He may have just stated that he intends to take care of Arthur, but love and good intentions can only do so much.

Alfred gently lowers Arthur back onto the bed and fixes the tangled sheets, and although Arthur’s face is relatively peaceful, worry and guilt eat away at his stomach. Hero gives him a doleful meow when he stands up straight and he scratches Hero’s ears. He’s surprised to see Iggy planted on the dresser, when he normally avoids Arthur, but of course the cats would be more in tune to what’s wrong than he is. It’s unfortunate that they can’t speak.

In the kitchen, Alfred starts to heat up a can of condensed soup on the stove. When Arthur wakes up, in what will hopefully be a much more peaceful fashion, he’ll need something to eat. That’s something he can do to take care of Arthur, and he’s been nursed with enough bowls of chicken noodle soup to know that there are few things that are more comforting when you have a terrible cold.

The shuffling of dragging feet finally alerts Alfred to Arthur’s presence, and he places the bowl of soup on the kitchen table in time to see Arthur appearing in the doorway. His expression is full of syrupy sweet love again, leaving no evidence of his previous terror, and while Alfred allows Arthur to cuddle against him, he can’t forget how Arthur looked before.

“I made you some soup, and there’s some orange juice, too.”

“Not hungry.”

“Please eat? Even if it’s just a little bit, I want you to get better.”

Faced with that irrefutable logic, coupled with Alfred’s patented puppy eyes, Arthur pulls away from him. A more characteristic grumpy look is on his face as he sits at the table and stares at the bowl of soup in front of him, and he glares at the glass of orange juice placed before him. Alfred gives him a smile and sits across with his own soup and juice, and spooning the soup into his mouth prompts Arthur to do the same.

“Did you get enough sleep while I was gone?” Alfred asks, both genuinely curious and wondering if Arthur was plagued by more nightmares that he didn’t get to witness.

“Hero wouldn’t let me get up,” Arthur replies, scrunching up his nose at the noodles on his spoon before he sticks them in his mouth.

“So you _did_ wake up?”

“I kept hoping you’d be home.”

It’s such a blunt, honest statement that Alfred chokes on his soup. Arthur watches him fondly, and Alfred blushes up to his ears. But as long as it wasn’t lucid nightmares interrupting his sleep, Alfred supposes there’s no need to press.

Arthur eats more of the soup than Alfred expected he would, and Alfred can’t help but feel a little pleased with himself as he takes the mostly empty bowl to drop in the sink.

“Well, we’ve got the rest of the afternoon free to do whatever we want, wanna watch a movie?”

“All right,” Arthur replies, but Alfred has a feeling that he could suggest anything and Arthur would agree to it with that same look on his face.

Alfred picks a movie he always enjoyed watching whenever he was sick—Toy Story—but it becomes clear that Arthur is more interested in watching him than the movie, because every time Alfred looks down at Arthur, he finds adoring eyes staring back at him. Arthur’s weight against him gets heavier and Alfred realizes that Arthur has fallen asleep again. Not wanting to disturb him, he remains as still as possible.

It’s about the time that Woody and Buzz decide to return to Andy that Arthur starts talking in his sleep again. At first it’s indecipherable mumbling, but eventually the same words from earlier start to become clear, joined by names. Scott, Rhys, Owen—people he doesn’t know. When the word “father” joins his babbling, Alfred furrows his brow in concern.

This time Arthur wakes up without any prompting, and that same terrified look is on his face. He skitters backwards and falls off the couch, but that doesn’t dispel the haze from his eyes.

“You can’t hurt me anymore,” Arthur says, staring at Alfred, who gapes down at Arthur cowering on the floor.

“What—I’m not going to hurt you, Arthur—” He tries to reach for Arthur, but his hand is slapped away.

“Don’t touch me, bastard!”

The words are most certainly not directed at him, but they still sting. Moreover, they just serve to confirm things that Alfred has begun to suspect. It was his family. They hurt Arthur.

“Arthur, it’s me. Alfred. You need to wake up,” he says, his voice somewhat desperate. He slides off the couch and kneels in front of Arthur.

Arthur remains tense at first, but he finally relaxes, and Alfred takes the opportunity to rest his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. He’s met with no resistance.

"I won't... _ever_ hurt you like that, Arthur."

He's wanted Arthur to confide in him about his past the entire time he's known him. But now he wonders if there's even a point. Arthur can tell him the truth and it won't change a thing. 

Alfred isn't a superhero—in the end, he's completely powerless to help Arthur.

He finds himself wishing for once that he had followed his parents' dream for him and studied to be a doctor instead. If he was a doctor, he might actually have the power to ease Arthur's pain.

Arthur stares at him, and the realization of who is front of him seems to dawn on him.

"I love you," Arthur says, his eyes brimming with affection.

The words that normally make Alfred’s heart flutter and happiness fill him are instead painful—like a vice has wrapped around his heart. That Arthur can love him even though he is unable to truly help him makes him feel guilty and certainly not like the hero he wants to be. His eyes sting as he pulls Arthur into a gentle hug.

"I love you, Arthur." He chokes on the words, and he finds that no matter how much he blinks, he can't stop his tears from falling.

In barely the span of a day he’s found things he believed to be true unraveled before him. His belief that Arthur confiding in him would somehow change the course of their relationship, his certainty that being an astronaut is his best career path, his ability to care for Arthur—all things he’s questioning now.

He can give Arthur the entire world and all of the stars and planets beyond it, but even with all of that he still can't take his pain away.

"Alfred, are you crying?"

Alfred nearly jumps, and he lifts his head to find Arthur staring at him with sudden clarity. Of all times for him to finally be alert and aware. He quickly wipes at his eyes and smiles weakly.

"No, no. I'm fine. You should get more sleep, sweetheart. I’ll carry you to bed."

Arthur nods, and Alfred watches as he nuzzles his shoulder, eyes closed. Alfred wants to get up and punch the wall in frustration, but instead he stands with the utmost care and lifts Arthur into his arms to carry him back to bed. When he has Arthur settled, tears sting at his eyes again. There’s no point in crying, though, and Alfred wipes at his eyes. All he can do is try to keep Arthur comfortable.

He retrieves his favorite book on space and flips through the pictures of planets, stars and nebulae—images he had fallen in love with long before he met Arthur, but now he loves Arthur, too. He’d been so certain that he could have both loves, but now he wonders if maybe things would be better off if he gave up on one of them.

* * *

Arthur is not in the bed when Alfred wakes up sprawled on top of the covers still wearing his clothes with his book open on top of him. He groans and rolls out of bed. He adjusts his glasses on his face and heads into the hallway.

“Arthur?”

But he finds Arthur sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea before he gets a response. Arthur’s expression is detached and his moves are less sluggish, and that’s Alfred’s sign that Arthur is feeling better. Arthur looks at him, and Alfred is ashamed to admit even to himself that he already misses Arthur looking at him like he's the reason the sun rises in the morning.

“Good morning,” Arthur says and motions for Alfred to sit in the opposite chair.

“Morning,” Alfred replies and takes a seat. Arthur lowers his teacup and stares into it.

“I said some things that upset you.”

Alfred blinks in shock and moves his mouth soundlessly before he finally stammers out a response. “No, you didn't, I was just—”

“You were crying.”

Arthur stares at him with a pointed look on his face, and Alfred grimaces. Of course Arthur would remember that. He chews on his lip, unable to respond. Arthur sighs and rubs his thumb over the rim of the teacup.

“Someday, Alfred, I'm going to want to tell you everything. What I saw in those dreams and everything that happened to inspire them. But...not if it's going to upset you that much.”

Alfred gapes at Arthur, who looks small and vulnerable. There it is—a promise to one day confide in him, but it’s coupled with guilt, when he shouldn’t feel guilty for what happened to him. Alfred sits up a little straighter and feels ridiculous for having felt so sorry for himself. It’s not about him at all. It never has been.

He might not be able to erase what happened to Arthur. In the end he’s just a teenage boy who dreams of traveling space. But he’s also Arthur’s boyfriend, and he can support Arthur in whatever he does—and giving him the opportunity to ease at least a little of the weight on his shoulders. Even if it’s something that seems small and insignificant, it might just be the one thing that Arthur needs.

“When you want to talk, I'll listen. To every word until you're done.”

Arthur looks at him and Alfred smiles in return. Love and good intentions may not be enough, but they’re all he has, and he’ll have to make do.

Arthur’s expression softens, and while it’s not the same blatant adoration from the past two days, it’s still a sight that makes Alfred’s heart flutter.


	17. You're Gonna Be the One That Saves Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur decides to face one of his fears and let Alfred touch him everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one may also seem gratuitous, but it serves a very important purpose in the story. Also, very NSFW.

Once upon a time, he used to spend entire days in the library. Books were an escape—a way to temporarily forget the much harsher reality waiting for him at home. Finding a quiet corner and a comfortable chair to curl up in with a good book is still one of his favorite simple pleasures. There is something about library books, or rather the look and feel of a library book—knowing that it has been well read and well loved. That excludes, of course, books that have obviously been mistreated and not just worn down from constant reading. There really is nothing like a good book.

He browses the fiction section of the library, scanning the titles and mentally checking off what he has already read and what looks interesting to potentially read later. He would grab a stack of interesting books and plant himself in a comfortable chair to read the summaries, but right now there's something specific he's looking for. Alfred is somewhere else seeing what comic anthologies are available for his perusal, and his patience for the quiet atmosphere of the library will only last so long with his summer vacation coming to an end. He'll want to spend more time doing what he considers fun.

Then Arthur sees it. Huxley. _Brave New World_. He pulls the book off the shelf, wrinkling his nose as he notes a stain marring some of the pages, and flips through the book. It's been many years since he first read it, and he feel it's time for a revisit.

The first time he read it, he had actually agreed with some of the concepts presented within. Namely that there was no need for families and that casual sex with multiple partners was really not as shocking as people made it out to be. Of course, he'd been an uncouth teenager and his idea of what was casual probably didn't fit the norm. He still is not one to judge what people do behind closed doors, but his own outlook on relationships and sex has drastically changed.

“Hey, find something good?” 

Speaking of his outlook changing, the very reason for that change appears at the end of the row with a collection of Calvin & Hobbes comic strips in his hand. Alfred smiles and Arthur holds up the worn book as he approaches.

“I found an old favorite,” Arthur says, and Alfred tilts his head to look at the title of the book.

“Brave New World...uh...oh yeah! Big Brother is watching you, right?” He beams, looking very pleased with himself, and Arthur can't help but snort.

“You're thinking of 1984.” Arthur smirks, shaking his head.

Alfred's smile fades into a thoughtful pout. “Really? Hmm...but they're both about really depressing dystopian futures, aren't they?”

“...that is one way of describing them, I suppose.”

“Well, I've never really been good with literature, but who needs depressing books when you have Calvin and Hobbes?”

Alfred holds up his book, a beaming smile returning to his face. Comics really are much more fitting for Alfred, when his section of their bookcase at home is full of comic books, science journals and picture books of space, as compared to Arthur's classic literature, mystery novels and porn. What they read is irrelevant when they're sitting on the sofa enjoying each other's company.

“Besides, I've got something better in mind...”

Arthur blinks, but he doesn't get the chance to ask Alfred what he means. Alfred places his book on an empty section of the shelf and leans against it to kiss Arthur. Although Arthur's knee jerk reaction is to push Alfred away, instead he kisses back. He gropes behind him for a place to set his book and then lifts his hands to touch Alfred's face instead. That seems to encourage Alfred, because he deepens the kiss and wraps an arm around Arthur to pull him closer.

“Library, Alfred,” Arthur manages to say, breaking the kiss just long enough to get the words out before Alfred's mouth, aggressive and needy, is on his again. Arthur groans as Alfred's hands drift lower, clutching and squeezing, but it's when Alfred rolls their hips together that Arthur finally tears himself away. “We can't do this here.”

Alfred doesn't look dejected or hurt—just amused. “Says the guy who wanted to have sex on Splash Mountain.”

“Oh, shut up.” Arthur shoves Alfred away from him, earning a laugh in response. “We aren't even prepared.”

Alfred shrugs. “I have a condom in my wallet.”

Arthur blinks, then snaps his head up to gape at Alfred. “Since when do you carry condoms in your wallet?”

Alfred smiles, somehow managing to look both smug and sheepish at once. Arthur groans.

“Oh god, I've ruined you.”

Alfred bursts out laughing, but quickly covers his mouth to muffle the noise until he can finally speak normally. “I wouldn't say ruined...and besides, there's no one around to see us. Everyone is on the first floor using the computer lab.”

A rather vocal part of Arthur wants to agree. The thought of having sex right there in the fiction section of the library is a thrilling prospect, and of course Arthur would love to bend Alfred over against the shelves and see how quiet he can keep. The fact remains, though, that they're in a public library. There are probably cameras, and there is always the possibility of someone walking by—even a child who most certainly does not need to see the two of them in the throes of passion. Most importantly, Arthur doesn't want to defile the books—a library is a sacred place, not somewhere to act on his ever present desire for Alfred.

“I have my book, let's go home,” Arthur says, his voice hoarse, and he reaches blindly behind him for the book he left there.

Alfred looks somewhat disappointed, but he nods and grabs his comics. “Yeah, let's go.”

Alfred thankfully opts for the self checkout, because Alfred looks ruffled and red-faced, and Arthur is sure he must look just as flustered, if not more. Although Arthur would like to run out of the library back to Alfred's car, Alfred is much more casual about the matter, as though trying not to look like he's as desperate as he actually is. Arthur stares with pointed intent at the side of Alfred's face even as they climb into the car.

“You want to stop by McDonald's on the way back?” Alfred asks, but his hopeful smile instantly fades when Arthur glares at him. He clears his throat as he sticks his key in the ignition. “S-Straight home then.”

The trip home is a blur of Alfred driving perhaps a bit too recklessly, parking his car in a crooked fashion, and nearly tripping on the stairs as they attempt to run back to their flat. Once inside the door, Arthur drops his book and throws himself on Alfred instead, hands curling in Alfred's shirt and trying to get him as close as possible. Alfred slams the door shut behind him, and Arthur shoves him against the wall.

“Arthur—wait—” Alfred tries to break free of Arthur's mouth and clinging hands, but Arthur only pulls him closer.

“I'm not waiting. You started this,” Arthur says, but his attempt to close the distance between them with another kiss is halted by Alfred's hands on his wrists, pushing him away.

“Arthur,” he starts to say, pausing to catch his breath. Arthur clenches his fists and tries to glare at him, but it's hard to do when all he wants to do is kiss him senseless. “Now that we're here, there's...something I've been wanting to do for a long time.”

When Alfred doesn't elaborate, Arthur begins to squirm. “And? What is it?”

“But...you'll have to trust me, okay? You know that I won't hurt you or do something you don't want me to do, right?”

Alfred's expression is much more reminiscent of how hesitant he can be before sex—unsure, with an almost pleading look on his face. Yet, it's almost always been Alfred who suggests they try things that, while not exactly wild or unheard of, are not their usual way of having sex. So, seeing Alfred looking so unsure when he'd been so aggressive in the library makes Arthur's heart beat a little faster.

“What is it, Alfred?”

Alfred releases his wrists so he can scratch at his head instead. He bites his lip and looks away before he responds. “I want to touch you. Everywhere.” 

Arthur is about to scoff and tell Alfred that his request is hardly different from their usual routine, but Alfred interrupts him with a suddenly intense look. 

“And I mean _everywhere_.”

The implications of what Alfred means finally hit Arthur and he shrinks away. He regrets his actions when Alfred's eyes widen and his mouth falls open.

“I'm sorry, Arthur. We don't have to, we can just...”

“No, Alfred, it's... I want...” 

But he's not sure if that's what he wants. Just thinking about Alfred's hands lingering on those ugliest parts of his body makes him feel nauseous, and he can't help imagining Alfred finding him ugly and repulsive. Instead of treating him with tenderness it would be disgust. But, then again, it's Alfred, the person who has endured so much with him, seen a glimpse of just how ugly he can be, and through it all is still in love with him. Alfred said himself that he wouldn't force him into something he didn't want.

“...you'll stop if I ask?” Arthur asks. Even though he wants to, he doesn't look away. He keeps his eyes locked on Alfred's. Alfred visibly relaxes then nods furiously.

“Of course. Any time, I'll stop.”

Arthur takes a deep breath and nods. “All right, Alfred.”

Alfred smiles, hesitant but pleased, and he shifts his weight before stepping forward to kiss Arthur. Arthur kisses back, the intense desire he'd felt before quelled to a much more subdued want of Alfred. In truth he's a little scared, but it's fear that's been holding him back from too many things as it is. Alfred continues to kiss him, holding his hands as he pulls him to their bedroom.

“Relax, sweetheart.” Alfred gently pushes Arthur down to sit at the foot of the bed and leans down to kiss him. “I promise I'll do my best to make you feel good.”

Arthur nods and sits still while his shirt is unbuttoned by Alfred. “I know you will.”

Alfred smiles and finishes with the last button, but doesn't make any move to remove the shirt. Instead he drifts down to Arthur's trousers, slowly pulling them off. 

“Just stay still. I'll do all the work.”

Arthur nods and for a moment he believes that Alfred is going to give him a blowjob, but instead Alfred pulls off his shoes and socks before removing his trousers, and he takes one of Arthur's feet in his hands and kneels on the floor.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asks and dissolves into laughter at the feeling of Alfred's fingers running along the bottom of his foot.

“I did say _everywhere_ , sweetheart. Besides, what's wrong with a little laughter?” Alfred smiles before he kisses Arthur's toes, continuing to tickle the bottom of his foot.

“Those are dirty tactics, you bastard,” he manages to say between chuckles.

“Sorry to resort to this, but...” 

He pauses to continue kissing every part of Arthur's foot. Arthur curls his toes and snorts when Alfred's lips brush against the bottom of his foot, but watching Alfred, kissing him with such focus and reverence, Arthur feels his cheeks heat up. Alfred smiles up at him and lowers his foot, turning his attention to the other one. Once again Arthur can't help but laugh when Alfred tickles him.

“Your smile...your laugh...they're beautiful. I wish you'd do them more often.” Alfred's tickling turns into something that's more of a massage, the look on his face as he watches Arthur so fond that Arthur has to turn away.

Arthur closes his eyes and tries to focus on Alfred's lips and hands on his foot rather than the negative thoughts racing through his mind. He's never been much of a smiler, not when there was never much to smile about. Even now, smiling feels awkward at times. But Alfred thinks his smile is beautiful and, after all, Alfred gives him plenty of reasons to smile. He should try to do it more often.

“Sweetheart,” Alfred says, and Arthur opens his eyes to watch Alfred kissing up the length of his leg, his fingers touching where his lips miss. When his lips reach where boxers prevent further exploration, he switches to the other leg, repeating the same motions. Arthur swallows hard and looks up at the ceiling.

This time, Alfred pauses at his knee, prompting Arthur to look down at him. Alfred takes a deep breath and reaches for the band of Arthur's boxers, and Arthur lifts his hips off the bed to allow Alfred to slip the boxers off to toss to the side. Arthur shrugs his shirt off and reaches for Alfred's, but Alfred shakes his head.

“I'll do all the work, you just lay back.”

Arthur frowns, but Alfred gently pushes him into a lying position. He pulls his t-shirt over his head, though, and Arthur licks his lips. Alfred lifts Arthur's leg off the bed and picks up where he left off, kissing Arthur's knee and moving along the inside of his thigh. Arthur lifts his head to watch Alfred, just in time for Alfred to start fondling his balls. Arthur sucks in a breath, which turns into a groan when Alfred's mouth closes around his cock.

Arthur throws his head back, but lifts a hand to curl into Alfred's hair. He arches into Alfred's mouth and chews on his lip, but just as he starts to lose himself to how Alfred is getting sinfully good at using his mouth, Alfred pulls away. Arthur lifts his head to give Alfred a desperate look.

“ _Alfred_.” It comes out as a whine, but Arthur can't help it. How cruel to not even finish the job. Alfred gives him a sheepish smile and Arthur throws his head back once more. “Goddamn tease.”

“Sorry. Promise to make up for it.” 

With those words Alfred kisses his stomach, thankfully not attempting to tickle him anymore, and Alfred's drifting hands are what make Arthur's blood start to run cold. He tenses and his breathing starts to go ragged. Alfred pauses.

“Is it okay?”

Arthur swallows and lifts his head. That uncertain look is back on Alfred's face, but Arthur can't simply brush things off this time. He can try to hide his scars with tattoos all he wants, but the scars will remain—ugly reminders of his previous dark, worthless existence.

“Arthur. Sweetheart. Is it okay? Do you want me to stop?” Alfred looks more and more concerned, and Arthur shakes his head.

“Go slow. Slow.”

He regrets agreeing almost immediately, because Alfred's hand slips up along the left side of his body, and a feeling like ice courses through him. He tenses, eyes widening even though Alfred's touch is gentle. He can't help his heart from racing and his breathing from going shallow.

“Arthur, shhh.”

Alfred stops, and Arthur takes a deep breath, allowing their eyes to meet.

“I'll stop,” Alfred says and starts to pull away. Arthur shakes his head and grabs Alfred's hand, leading it back to his side.

“No...keep going. Please. I'll never get over this fear if I don't face it.”

Alfred watches him with a critical eye, but then his fingers lightly draw along the length of the scar, making Arthur tense and suck in a breath. 

“What are you afraid of? I think you're gorgeous. Every part of you.” Alfred lowers his head to kiss where his fingers lie, and Arthur chews on the inside of his cheek.

Although he wishes that Alfred's words could have banished all of his doubts, he still feels lightheaded while Alfred presses kisses to the raised skin, mostly hidden by a tattoo. He manages to not tremble, though he clutches at the sheets, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to look, though he imagines that Alfred looks every bit as intense as when he was kissing his feet. Alfred's lips and fingers are almost excruciatingly gentle—something Arthur is certain he always knew would be the case deep down. Nevertheless, he puts all of his effort into not letting his mind wander or overthink anything until Alfred lifts his head with a smile.

“There, nothing to be afraid of, right?”

Arthur lets out a shuddering sigh and lifts a hand to stroke Alfred's face. Easy to say, but not really the truth. He still manages a small smile.

“Kiss me proper, you fool.”

Alfred beams and lifts himself up, allowing Arthur to scoot back to lie fully on the bed and reach for Alfred. Alfred's mouth on his is much more familiar—and safe. He curls his fingers around the back of Alfred's neck, the other hand tangling with Alfred's somewhere beside his head. Arthur gladly accepts Alfred's tongue in his mouth and hums his appreciation—Alfred really is getting sinfully good with his mouth, even if he's still a little overeager. Alfred finally breaks the kiss, giving Arthur's bottom lip one last nibble as he pulls away.

“I love kissing you. I love holding your hand.” Alfred chuckles and kisses Arthur's chin, rocking their hips together. Although Alfred still has his trousers on, it's enough for Arthur to groan and arch against him. Arthur feels Alfred smiling as he moves to suck at his neck instead. “God, I love you, Arthur.”

“Sap.” His throat is dry and the word lacks any bite, earning only another chuckle in response.

Arthur feels lightheaded again, but not from fear. Alfred's mouth works at his neck with open-mouthed kisses and light nips, and the hand twined with Arthur's occasionally squeezes while the other keeps drifting over Arthur's body. Alfred is no doubt leaving marks on his neck, but even though his kisses are aggressive, everything is done with such reverence, such care. 

He wonders what he ever did to deserve such treatment—or even what he did to deserve Alfred's love in the first place. No matter how long he lives he'll always wonder about that.

Alfred continues his slow worship—because that's the best way Arthur can think to describe it—of Arthur's body, moving down to his chest to suck at his nipples, and back to his stomach where he moves to the neglected right side of Arthur's body. All the while Arthur strokes his fingers through Alfred's hair, sitting up to watch him. 

“Mmkay, can you roll over, sweetheart?”

Under normal circumstances, Arthur might give into his impatience and just demand that Alfred put on a condom and fuck him already, but he's enjoying what Alfred is doing to him. In Alfred's eyes, even the ugliest parts of him are desirable, worthy of kisses and gentle touches.

So he rolls over, and Alfred leans over him to kiss his ear. Arthur turns his burning face against the pillow and leaves it there. He knows when Alfred has found another of his prominent scars, because his touches slow down and become even more gentle than before. Alfred finally pauses at the small of Arthur's back, licking up in a straight line as he hoists himself up. He makes short work of his trousers and boxers then leans over Arthur's body to rummage in the nightstand. He grabs a condom and the lube, which he pours into his hand to warm up before he presses a finger into Arthur. 

It may be because Alfred has managed to make his entire body hyper sensitive, but just that one finger feels like too much, and Arthur gasps and whips his head around to gape at Alfred. Alfred freezes and furrows his brow.

“Something wrong?”

Arthur wriggles his hips, forcing Alfred's finger to move, and he groans. “No...no, it's fine. Brilliant.”

Despite his assurance that he's fine, he bites down on one of his fists while Alfred stretches him, slowly adding more fingers. He's not going to come just from Alfred's fingers massaging his prostate, no matter how close he feels. Before he can make a fool of himself, Alfred withdraws his fingers, and Arthur finds himself pulled up and back against Alfred's chest.

Alfred's teeth graze the back of his neck, making him shiver, but it's when Alfred presses more kisses and swipes his tongue over the same area that he throws his head back and lets out a broken moan. He clenches his fists in the sheets and curls his toes, giving Alfred better access to his neck. What he'd started earlier with the front of his neck is continued—just as aggressive. This time, Alfred's hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly while the other hand roves over his chest. Arthur stares up at the ceiling with his mouth hanging open while he pants and writhes against Alfred's touch.

Arthur blinks when Alfred's fingers wipe at the corner of his mouth, and he realizes with some horror that he'd been drooling. Rather than laugh, Alfred just smiles and nuzzles the side of his face. Arthur's eyes slide shut when Alfred kisses him there, but open again when he's turned around in Alfred's arms to be seated in his lap. For a moment Alfred just stares at him with such love that he feels guilty.

“I also love the way you look at me.” Alfred kisses his eyes, which Arthur closes in time, and then kisses his eyebrows. “Your eyebrows, too. They're really special.”

Arthur snorts, but he knows that Alfred isn't being sarcastic. He means every word he's saying. 

“And your messy hair.” A kiss is pressed to his hair, then his forehead. Alfred keeps kissing his face, and Arthur opts to keep his eyes closed until Alfred's hand brushes through his hair. “Your pierced ears...just everything.”

“I should be saying all of this to you,” Arthur manages to say despite his heavy breathing and the lump in his throat. He lifts a hand to touch Alfred's face, and Alfred grabs his hand, kissing his palm. That gesture is what finally breaks Arthur's patience and he leans forward to kiss Alfred soundly on the mouth. Their cocks are hard between them, and Arthur grinds his hips against Alfred's, eliciting muffled moans from both of them.

While his mouth is occupied, Alfred's hands fumble for the condom he'd placed to the side earlier, and he pulls away to focus on putting it on correctly. When he's done, he smiles at Arthur.

“So, how do you want it? On your back, on your stomach, something else?”

“I want you to hold me,” Arthur replies immediately. If his cheeks weren't already hot, he'd be blushing from his blunt request, but once again Alfred just smiles.

“Sure.” 

Arthur hoists himself up into a kneeling position and Alfred pulls him forward, lining up his cock while Arthur pushes down. Arthur grimaces and throws his arms around Alfred, groaning into his shoulder. When Alfred is fully seated inside of him, Arthur doesn't bother waiting for himself to adjust before he lifts his hips and thrusts himself down again. It hurts, making Arthur hiss and scratch at Alfred's back as he clings harder, but Alfred moans and kisses his neck.

“Ah, Arthur...feels good.”

That's all that matters to Arthur after what Alfred just did for him—that Alfred is enjoying himself, not just giving without receiving anything in return like he always does. Arthur lifts his hips and thrusts down again, and this time Alfred meets him halfway.

Eventually the pain ebbs away in favor of pleasure, especially when Alfred starts sucking at his neck again. Arthur bites his lip to muffle his cries, but he can't stop his toes from curling and his fingers from scratching at Alfred's back when Alfred angles his thrusts just right. Arthur can't think coherently anymore—everything is done by reflex. Alfred's hand just has to close around his cock before his orgasm hits him hard. He cries out Alfred's name and nearly faints, but manages to blink back into focus, letting his head loll against Alfred's shoulder and hum his contentment at the feeling of Alfred continuing to thrust into him.

“Love you, love you,” Alfred says over and over until he too comes, gritting his teeth against Arthur's neck and squeezing him just a little too hard.

Arthur pulls back and brushes Alfred's hair away from his damp forehead, which he leans forward to kiss. Alfred mumbles something incoherent, and Arthur can't help but smile. He takes the initiative to lift himself off Alfred, and while Alfred groans and stares at him with unfocused eyes, Arthur pulls off the condom to tie off and toss in the waste bin beside the bed. Arthur takes Alfred's face between his hands and smiles fondly at him.

“I love you quite madly, you know. I...I'm sorry I can't show it the way you can.”

Alfred's lazy, sated look brightens into a wider smile. “I know you do. You don't need to do crazy things to prove it to me.”

Arthur remains quiet while Alfred lowers them to lie down on the bed. Arthur never really knows where Alfred's strange whims come from, but in this case he can't help but wonder what motivated Alfred to insist on kissing every last part of his body. 

“So where exactly, may I ask, did this come from?”

Alfred shrugs, rolling onto his side to look at Arthur. “I love you. I wanted you to understand how you look in my eyes...how I see you. I think you're amazing.”

Arthur's eyes sting, and he quickly sits up so he can blink the feeling away. Amazing, Alfred says. Arthur can't help but laugh derisively at that and press his hand against his forehead. He's never been amazing or done anything worthy of being labeled in such a way, but Alfred is being sincere. Arthur lowers his hand and stares vacantly across the room.

“You really are going to love me forever, aren't you?” He doesn't mean to say it out loud, but the words slip out.

“...huh?”

Arthur looks down at Alfred, looking confused, and he turns away with a blush. “Never mind, it's nothing.”

“I will if you'll let me.”

Arthur snaps his head down at Alfred, who smiles up at him. Once again Arthur's eyes sting, but this time he leans over Alfred to kiss him—distract him.

“Idiot,” he says, because he can't say what he really feels.

* * *

Once upon a time he was a troubled teenager that met a ridiculous boy outside of a fast food restaurant. From that moment, his life began to change—sometimes subtle, sometimes overwhelming, but always for the better. Alfred is just one person, but he's managed to take a broken, worthless life and give it some meaning.

Arthur owes Alfred the world.

But since he can't give him the world, he can do something else that he should have done a long time ago.

Alfred is playing his video games, shouting at the television like he always does, and Arthur watches him. In truth, there is nothing that is particularly remarkable about Alfred—he's a teenager just like many others. He goes to school, he works, he plays video games and has relationship problems. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But Arthur knows that no matter how long he lives, no matter how many people he meets, there will never be anyone else like Alfred. No one else will be the person who looked at a worthless delinquent and saw someone worth falling in love with. No one else will be the person who has been patient through trial after trial, and loved the source of those trials through it all.

No one else will ever mean as much to him as Alfred does, even if they break up and move on, even if they stay together.

He knows that Alfred won't hurt him.

Alfred—sweet, patient Alfred—won’t reject him or push him away. No matter how broken and ugly he is, he somehow managed to gain Alfred’s love—and keep it despite how many times they should have fallen apart. 

Such devotion deserves far more than what Arthur can offer, but at the very least he can offer the trust he’s been withholding out of fear. Trust the truth, open his heart to Alfred, knowing that such a move won’t backfire. 

His knees are weak beneath him, threatening to buckle, and the contents of his stomach are so apparent to him that he's afraid that he'll vomit, but he manages to lift his head and clear his throat.

“Alfred.”

Alfred looks up at him with a smile, but it immediately fades into a concerned frown. He drops the controller and rips off his headset and crosses the room toward him. Arthur takes a step back and shakes his head, making Alfred pause. If Alfred tries to comfort him now, he's certain that he'll lose his nerve forever.

He opens his mouth to speak, but he has to close it again right away when a wave of nausea overcomes him and he has to swallow the bile in his throat. He stares at Alfred, feeling increasingly desperate, and his face must show it, because the concern on Alfred's face continues to grow. Arthur's body trembles violently, but he won't run away this time. It's time to face up to his fears.

No matter what happens, he wants Alfred to know. After all, Alfred makes him believe that there is such a thing as forever, and that it's something they will have. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then opens them again.

“We should talk.”


	18. It's a Very, Very Mad World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Arthur met Alfred, his childhood was full of pain, disappointments, and pretending that nothing mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my previous warning on this story:
> 
> " **WARNINGS:** CHILD ABUSE (I cannot emphasize this enough), violence, non-major character death, thoughts of suicide, and a bit of dubcon.
> 
> This is a very fictional story, so I will admit that I took a few unrealistic liberties and also rushed through a few parts, but it is still a story that portrays an abusive situation. If you do not feel comfortable reading it, I promise it won't affect your understanding of future stories if you skip it."
> 
> I'd like to emphasize that this is a story about an abusive childhood, so if you'd rather skip to the end to just read the aftermath or not read it at all, please do so. There is also quite a bit of PrUK and UK/OCs here, but that is because of past incidents. As a result, there is mentioned (but not explicit) underage sex.
> 
> I should also warn that this is quite long (over 20k words), so keep that in mind before you start reading it.

At the age of four, Arthur has yet to learn perspective. His world is limited to where his mother takes him. When he wakes in the morning, she chooses his clothing and helps him dress, makes his breakfast, holds his hand when they leave the house, wipes away his tears when he cries and bandages his wounds when he is hurt. He doesn’t see much of his father, and his brothers call him a pest and never want to play with him, so his mother is his world.

He has a raincoat that was a hand-me-down from Rhys—a blue one with a print of frogs—and a matching pair of boots that he uses to jump into puddles while his mother is distracted.

“Don’t let go of Mummy’s hand, Arthur. I don’t want to lose you.”

He ignores her as he jumps into a puddle, sending a torrent of water into the air. He spins around and squeals in delight while the water falls like rain around him. His mother sighs, but takes a seat on a nearby bench, allowing Arthur to run around on the grass and pavement of the park. He’s too eager to play to wait until they reach the playground, and it doesn’t matter that he has no other children to play with, because the fairies appear not long after he abandons his puddle to kneel in the still wet grass.

“Hello, Arthur!” they say, their smiles lovely as they float in front of him.

“Hullo,” he says in response, and he lifts his hands to allow the fairies to rest on his palms. The smaller one, Marigold, beckons him closer and cups her hands to whisper in his ear.

“We’re going to grant you a wish, Arthur! You’re a good boy and have a pure heart, so whatever you want, we’ll give it to you!”

“I get a wish?” Arthur frowns, his brow furrowing as he thinks long and hard. A brilliant idea hits him and his eyes light up. “Umm...I want a lotta chocolate!”

The fairies giggle into their hands and shake their heads, making Arthur frown again.

“No no, it has to be something very _special_ ,” the other, Periwinkle, explains.

Arthur puffs out his cheeks in a pout. “But chocolate’s really special!”

Marigold stands and beckons him closer again, this time floating up to kiss him on the nose.

“When you think of a very special wish, you will know! We’ll come and grant it for you.”

“So I don’t get chocolate?” Arthur climbs to his feet, and the fairies giggle again. Before Arthur can ask why they’re still laughing at him, his mother’s voice calls for him. Arthur looks over to find her motioning for him to come over to her, and he turns to give the fairies a forlorn look. “I haveta go now, but I’ll think of something _really_ special!”

“We’ll be waiting for your wish, Arthur!” 

Their voices follow him as he runs across the grass to meet his mother, where he pauses to beam up at her. 

“Mummy, can I go on the slide?”

She doesn’t respond, instead staring straight ahead with a deep frown on her face. Arthur grabs her hand and tugs on it.

“Mummy?”

He has to tug on her again before she blinks and looks down at him, dazed.

“Can I go on the slide?” he asks again, and she gives him a weak smile.

“It might be too wet for the slide, darling.”

“Then I’ll go on the swings!” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he starts skipping away towards the playground. He only notices how far behind she is when he’s at the top of the slide and pauses to wave at her before he slides down.

* * *

Light peeking through his drapes is what wakes him the following morning, and as he blinks away the haze of sleep he realizes how very late it is in the morning. The sun is too high in the sky—he should have been awake a long time ago. He slips out of bed and into the hallway, rubbing at his eyes as he heads for the kitchen to hopefully find his mother making breakfast for him.

He stops when he steps on something that feels like a bite to his foot and he falls back onto his bottom. Glass and water are all over the floor, and a piece of the glass is wedged into his foot, causing blood to seep from the wound. Arthur’s lip quivers then he bursts into tears. His mother will come make it better, he knows. She’ll sweep him into a hug and say comforting things as she bandages the wound and makes the pain go away.

But she doesn’t come. Instead, Arthur sits on the floor crying loudly as the blood from his foot slowly mixes with the water on the floor. He cries louder, wondering why she’s not coming. She always comes when he cries.

He pulls his hands away from his eyes at the sound of rushing footsteps, and he sees his father stomping down the hallway with a red face. Arthur starts to lift his foot to show his father the horrible, painful thing that happened to him.

“Daddy, my foot—”

He’s suddenly sliding across the floor until his head slams into the wall and he stares in shock for a moment, reeling at the pain that throbs in the back of his head. He’s not sure what happened, but it hurts even more than his foot and he starts to cry again.

“Be quiet! Be quiet, you worthless piece of shit!”

His father kicks him, and Arthur immediately tries to shield his face, curling into a ball as he continues to cry. It’s terribly painful, but more than that he doesn’t understand why his father is hurting him or why his mother isn’t coming to help him. His father kicks him again, but this time he stomps away shouting words that Arthur doesn’t understand, but knows they are angry from the tone of his father’s voice. He uncurls from his ball and huddles against the wall, hurt and confused and unable to see clearly. His head is pounding.

He starts to cry again, at a loss of what else he can do. He’s not sure whether to clutch his head, his foot or his stomach, so he settles for screaming.

“Mummy!! Mummy, it hurts!”

It’s Owen who appears this time, his right eye dark and puffy, and he steps around the glass where he kneels and starts to shake Arthur.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, idiot!”

Arthur flails desperately and shakes his head, screaming at the top of his lungs. “No, no, Mummy, it hurts!”

He stops abruptly when Owen slaps him hard across the face, and he instinctively covers his cheek with his hand. He stares in shock at Owen, who looks even more menacing as he glares with his dark, scary eye.

“Shut up!! She’s gone! She’s not coming back and it’s all your fault! Everything is _all your fault_!!”

Owen stands and kicks him, and Arthur breaks down into tears once more. Owen yells at him to be quiet some more, but Arthur continues to scream. After a moment, Arthur finds himself being swung up into Owen’s arms, and he lets out a squeal of terror and thrashes his arms and legs as he’s carried.

“Shut up, _shut up_!!” Owen opens the door to the hallway closet and throws Arthur inside, and Arthur wails into a coat lying on the floor as the door is closed on him, leaving him in darkness.

The pain is terrible, but it’s the confusion that makes him cry. His brothers have never been particularly nice to him, but they never actually hurt him before, either. And Owen said that their mother is gone, gone and never coming back. But she tucked him in the night before and kissed him goodnight, so it can’t be true and she’ll come save him and take away the pain any minute. He continues to cry even as he hears his father’s voice again, yelling angrily while Owen pleads with him. Something slams against the door and Arthur lifts his head to stare at the shadows moving under the door, still crying. Owen’s voice is abruptly cut off by a noise that Arthur would never be able to describe.

It’s such a terrifying sound that Arthur freezes, immediately quieting his cries. An eerie quiet follows, broken only occasionally by Owen’s soft whimpering, and Arthur watches with wide eyes until the large shadow under the door goes away.

He doesn’t ever ask why, but Owen is never quite able to walk without a bit of a limp after that incident. More important to Arthur is what he quickly learns after that day—if he cries, he’ll just be hit and yelled at. Crying doesn’t stop the pain, it just brings more. 

And his mother never comes. She really is gone and never coming back.

* * *

He’s thought of his special wish—something that he knows the fairies would grant him. But they don’t come anymore, even when he hides under beds and in closets to get away. It’s no longer just as a game.

His eye hurts as he huddles under a pile of clothes in the hallway closet, but when he tries to wipe at it, it only hurts more. He sniffles, but he won’t cry. They’ll just hit him if he cries.

“I thought of something special,” he says to the darkness. He hugs his knees and bites on his lip. His eyes sting with unshed tears, but he won’t cry. “Marigold, Periwinkle, if I can still have a wish, I wanna be happy again.”

* * *

He doesn’t know where his father goes during the day, but wherever it is, it’s a temporary reprieve. 

Arthur hides under his father’s bed with a coloring book and crayons he stole from Rhys, and he hums to himself as he colors in the pages. When he’s discovered he’ll be yelled at and maybe he’ll wind up with another bloody lip or sore eye, but being able to do something fun for even a short period of time will be worth it.

The coloring book is full of animals, and as Arthur uses a pink crayon to color in a cat, he tries to teach himself the letters beneath the picture. He doesn’t know what to call them yet, just the sounds they make.

“Cat,” he says, smiling to himself. “Meow meow.”

He puts the pink crayon to the side and reaches for a yellow one to color in the cat’s eyes when the book is wrenched out of his hand by a scowling Rhys. Arthur’s eyes widen, but then he pouts.

“Hey! Give it back!” 

“It’s not yours, stupid!”

“But you don’t even use it! You’re too old!” Arthur crawls out from under the bed and chases after Rhys, who holds the coloring book out of his reach. “Come on! Please?”

“No! And besides, everyone knows that cats aren’t pink, you idiot.”

“They could be! And bunnies could be green!” 

Arthur stands up on his tiptoes and tries to grab the book, but Rhys pushes him so he stumbles back, crashing into his father’s dresser as he falls back. A porcelain vase on the edge teeters then crashes onto the floor, leaving Arthur and Rhys to stare at it in shock.

Rhys’s eyes widen then he runs from the room. 

“Ah, wait!!”

Arthur tries to climb to his feet, but his hand presses onto a piece of the shattered vase, driving into his palm. He cries out and stares at his hand and the porcelain piece sticking out of it, and he removes it as he stumbles to his feet. He leaves a bloody handprint on the wood floor, but he pays it no mind as he runs to hide in the hallway closet.

Once inside he huddles under a coat and sucks at his hand. He hates the taste of blood, but he doesn’t want it to get all over his clothes and the floor, either. He hates Rhys for taking the coloring book and spoiling his fun, never mind that they broke a vase and will certainly be punished for it. All he wanted to do was color a few animals. 

The bleeding begins to stop just as Arthur hears heavy footfalls outside the closet. He tenses as he looks down and sees a shadow stop outside the door. He starts to shake, but clamps his mouth shut lest he make any noise.

_Go away. Go away. Please don’t open the door. Go away._

Nothing happens for a moment, though Arthur continues to stare at the shadow under the door with wide eyes. It starts to move away and Arthur relaxes, but then the door is swung wide open. Arthur gapes and an attempt to crawl away is thwarted as his upper body is lifted off the floor by his t-shirt. He’s slapped across the face by his father, and Arthur lifts his hands to shield his face as the typical blows to his upper body follow.

“A broken vase, blood all over the floor…” His father trails off into the string of words that Arthur now knows are nasty and mean, made only worse by his harsh tone. He tries to think of the cat and rabbit in the coloring book instead—anything else but where he is.

“But it was Rhys who pushed me!!” Arthur cringes as one particularly forceful blow hits his shoulder, and he tries to squirm out of his father’s grasp.

There is no need, however—his father stops and releases his hold on Arthur’s shirt. He swears under his breath and stomps away, and Arthur takes the opportunity to flee under a table. It’s not that he wants Rhys to be hit—not really—but any negative attention he can take off of himself means less pain later.

He manages to sneak outside, rubbing at his sore arms and sucking at his hand again as he goes, knowing that he’ll be mostly safe out there. His father won’t hit him if there are other people around to see. He spots Rhys sitting in the alleyway and he kicks at the ground as he approaches. Rhys glares at him then looks away. He looks scared, Arthur thinks, but then again he’s scared, too.

“I think he’s gonna hit you,” Arthur says, keeping a bit of distance between them. His father may not hit him out in the open, but Rhys has no problems doing so. Rhys’s eyes widen and he snaps his head around to glare at Arthur again.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Rhys’s threaten is probably genuine, but Arthur kicks at rocks on the ground and pouts. “You shoulda just given me the book.”

Rhys suddenly stands, and Arthur jumps back, preparing to run if necessary, but Rhys just scowls and takes off down the street. Arthur contemplates following, but he knows that if Rhys doesn’t hit him he’ll definitely abandon him someplace where he won’t be able to find his way back home. He wishes he was older so he could run away, too. Maybe he’d meet a bird like in his picture books and fly away.

For now all he can do is dream up imaginary friends in the alley and hope that his father will have calmed down enough later that maybe he’ll just be pushed around a little. He introduces himself to a jolly old man named Mr. Butterton and drifts far, far away from that house and that alley.

* * *

Every day there is a group of children who pass by his house on their way to and from school, and sometimes Arthur peeks out the window at them, wishing he could join them. School means a way of getting out of the house, but more importantly school means learning. If he learns, things will get better. If he learns, no one will be able to call him stupid or worthless.

His older brothers go to school—or at least Owen and Rhys do. Scott is his oldest brother, still just a teenager but expected to work like an adult. Arthur knows that for as bad as his father treats him, Scott is treated far worse. That treatment is transferred into meanness, mostly taken out on Arthur when it suits him. It’s easier to avoid Scott, though, and Scott won’t look for him, either. Not if he’s not very angry, at least.

What Scott does during the day is of little consequence to him, however. Just as with his father, Scott being away means more peace for him.

That peace means very little though when he can’t read and the only things he can find to watch on television usually involve people yelling at each other. He hears enough of that with the television off. Sometimes he takes a book and tries to read it anyway, but the words are always just a jumble of letters on the page that make no sense. He wants to go to school. He wants to learn.

But since he’s certain that it’s not just a matter of showing up with the other children, he has to ask his father, and he’s not sure how well that would go if he tried.

He watches that group of children, seeing how they laugh with each other as they carry their bags, and he wants to be one of them—laughing, learning, happy. He wants to be a normal little boy who has a father and a mother and siblings and goes to school and comes home to play games and can read books when he has trouble falling asleep at night. He wants to be a normal little boy who doesn’t have to be afraid of falling asleep because he might be pulled out of bed and slapped for not properly cleaning up a mess he made while trying to make himself some toast.

He keeps a close eye on his father for several days, watching and gauging his moods and waiting for just the right moment to swoop in and ask if he can go to school along with Rhys and Owen. He always knows if it’s a good night if his father makes a meal for everyone to eat rather than just cooking for himself. He believes that one of those nights will be his best chance to ask with less fear of retaliation. There is no guarantee of when or even _if_ one of those nights will ever occur. Arthur has nothing else, so he waits.

Days pass with no sign of his father’s mood improving, though Arthur does everything in his power not to aggravate him or his brothers. It is longer than he was hoping for, but his patience eventually pays off. He comes inside one day from playing his games with imaginary friends to find Owen and Rhys with plates full of the same food. Though Rhys shoves him out of the way on his way out of the kitchen, Arthur doesn’t fight back. He instead cautiously approaches the counter to see what his father made for them.

It’s curry—lamb with that bright red sauce. It’s his favorite, though he’s never actually told his father this. 

They do not eat their meals together—not if they can help it, at least—but Arthur serves himself a plate and takes a seat at the kitchen table with his father. His father gives him a suspicious look that Arthur doesn’t return, instead focusing on eating his curry as neatly as possible. No need to make a mess and ruin his chances. He finishes his food first and alternates between staring at his empty plate and briefly shifting his gaze to his father’s face. He wants to ask, but his tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of his mouth and he can’t speak. 

His father finishes his food and stands up, and Arthur springs out of his chair. He won’t lose his chance. 

“Can I go to school?”

His father stiffens, and he stiffens as well, waiting to be yelled at and have something thrown at him. Arthur takes a step back, but doesn’t run away—not yet. They stare at each other in silence for a moment until his father raises an eyebrow and narrows his eyes.

“Eh? Weren’t you already?”

Arthur swallows. “No, Father.”

Silence again follows as they stare at each other. Arthur’s heart is racing and he has no idea what will follow. He could agree or he could possibly use the ceramic plate in his hand to hit Arthur with. Arthur never really knows what will happen when it comes to his family.

Finally his father sighs and waves his free hand as he turns around. “You’re an annoying sprog, aren’t you? All right, I’ll get you enrolled. All the better to get your worthless arse out of here.”

Arthur’s heart skips a beat, but he just nods and ducks out of the kitchen before his father can change his mind. Rhys is in their room still eating when Arthur enters, but he ignores the way Rhys tries to disgust him with his mouth open wide to show his chewed up food. He climbs onto his bed and grins brightly into the pillow. 

Finally his life will start to get better.

* * *

His first day of school is a couple months into the term, though the nice lady who shows him to his classroom assures him that he’ll be just fine. He has his plastic bag with him, which is the only thing he could find that could act as a book bag. It has the peanut butter and marmalade sandwich he’d made himself and the items he’d been supplied with in preparation for school. Most important is that he’s ready and eager to learn.

He clutches at his plastic bag as his teacher, a young woman with a friendly face, ushers him to the front of the classroom. She introduces herself to him, but he’s not really paying attention to her. He tries to stand up straight in the face of all the children staring back at him.

“Everyone, this is Arthur Kirkland. He’ll be part of our class from now on so make him feel welcome!”

Arthur smiles shyly, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve as he looks around the classroom. Several pairs of curious eyes look him over, and some of the children start whispering to each other while pointing at him and occasionally giggling. Arthur’s smile starts to fade when he realizes that they are laughing at him, and not in a friendly way.

His teacher, however, leans down and smiles warmly at him. “There’s an empty seat near the back that you can take, Arthur.”

Arthur nods, but the walk to his seat is anything but pleasant. The eyes of the other children bore into him and he hears someone say something about eyebrows. Someone pokes him, but it’s mostly the laughter that bothers him. He slumps into his seat with his plastic bag and tries to appear small. He’d done his best to look good for his first day—he’d worn a long sleeve shirt to cover his bruises and had washed his face and everything. 

“What kind of name is Arthur?”

Arthur turns to face the boy sitting next to him, who grins back. Arthur frowns. “Well, what is your name then?”

“You talk funny, too! And your eyebrows are really big!”

The children around him begin to laugh again, but they are silenced by the teacher asking them to pay attention. Arthur is more than happy to do so and sits up a little straighter so he can see what she is doing. She pulls out a book that Arthur recognizes as one of the books he was given to bring with him. He happily pulls it out of his bag along with a pencil, ready and willing to forget about the other children and focus on learning.

“Ah, Arthur. Would you like to practice a little reading? How about reading the first sentence on page thirty for us? That’s three zero.”

Arthur freezes and shakes his head rapidly in response to her warm smile and friendly tone of voice. “I can’t.”

Her smile fades slightly and she tilts her head in confusion. “I know it’s scary to start right away on your first day, but we’ll all help you through it. Won’t we, class?”

She continues to smile, but it doesn’t seem so pleasant anymore. Arthur can feel several eyes on him and he wonders if he should even say anything. Maybe if he doesn’t, she’ll just ask someone else. He gulps and stares at the jumble of letters in the book.

“No, I can’t. I don’t know how.”

Their laughing voices seem to echo around him, filling the air with jeers about how he’s stupid and only an idiot doesn’t know how to read. His face burns and he wants to punch the boy sitting nearest to him.

“Class, please calm down! This is not something to laugh about!”

They don’t stop and Arthur feels tears welling up in his eyes. He won’t cry, though. Just like at home, crying means they’ll just hurt him more. He bites down on his lip and glares at his desk. Their laughter is cruel, but he’s endured far worse. He will not cry.

He looks up when his teacher kneels next to him, and she gives him a small smile. “I’m sorry, Arthur. Come on.”

She motions for him to stand and he follows, eager to get away from the laughter and cruel voices of the other children. He follows her out of the room, where she once again kneels to his height. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” she repeats. She starts to talk about lack of proper preparation, putting him in with other children his age and other things he doesn’t really understand. He eventually stops paying attention to what she’s saying.

He stares at the floor, at the shoes that he painstakingly tied as neatly as he could so he wouldn’t trip over his feet and look foolish. It was all for nothing. He ended up looking foolish just by being himself. Tears sting at his eyes, but he stubbornly blinks them away.

“Arthur,” she says, interrupting him. He looks up at her then looks back at the floor. “I’d like to help you. Can you ask your mother if it’s okay for you to stay after school a couple days a week? I’ll get some workbooks that will help you with your reading and we’ll go over them together after all of the other children have gone home. Is that all right?”

He flinches at the mention of his mother, but he nods. After the fiasco in the classroom, he knows it will be better if it’s just him on his own with the teacher, without the judgment from the other children. He lifts his head and nods firmly. She smiles and stands up, and while Arthur doesn’t want to endure more ridicule, he holds his head up and pretends that he can’t hear the cruel things being said to him. It’s something he’s used to doing.

Even so, he doesn’t mind staying after school to get help with his reading, though—not at all. Being at school means that he doesn’t have to go home.

* * *

From then on he’s “Big Eyebrows Idiot”, but it’s not just that nickname that follows him. The other children also make fun of him because he often wears the same clothes almost every day—many of them too big for him—or how he uses the same plastic bag for his books and the lone peanut butter sandwich he makes himself for lunch every morning. He has no concept of money—just that his father thinks it’s very important that he and Scott earn some—so he can’t defend himself. No one wants to be friends with him because he’s “ugly and stupid”, so he spends every recess and lunch period sitting alone on a bench on the playground, sometimes watching the other children play, but often just sitting on his own and entertaining himself with his own thoughts. 

It’s not something that bothers him—not really. He’s always been alone, and he’s used to hearing that he’s stupid and ugly and other such nasty words. He’s regularly called worthless at home, but that’s something he’s going to change. He’s going to learn to read, and then learning other things will be much easier for him. Soon he’ll be smart enough to make things better for himself. No one will be able to call him stupid anymore.

Learning to read is the first, extremely important step. He pores over his workbook pages, furrowing his brow as he tries to make sense of the letters and their corresponding sounds, and how he strings those together to make words. He’s supposed to also practice with a family member at home, but he knows that’s not a possibility. He’s also impatient. It’s only been a couple weeks, but two days of staying after school with the teacher is not going to be enough. He wants to read _now_. Because of this he’s decided to devote every moment of his free time to learning on his own. In between school where he sits and absorbs everything the teacher says and spending a couple days a week with her going through workbook pages, he does work on his own. On the playground at school and curled into a corner in his room, he learns to read. He has nothing else, so it’s very easy to put a great deal of effort into his work. As long as he stays quiet and out of sight, he receives very little grief from his family. 

A few weeks of effort eventually pay off. It’s like magic when at last the letters start to come together, forming words that then form sentences. Sentences form paragraphs and soon he finds himself reading. A whole new world is suddenly open to him, full of stories and new possibilities. He reads the picture books in the classroom when the other children run out to play and at home he finds what books he can and tries to read them. Many of the words are too big for him, or they are words he simply doesn’t know, but he’s reading, and that is what matters most to him.

Finally, he realizes. Finally things will truly start to get better.

Even so, he continues to meet with his teacher after school, listening to her explain things to him. He’s read through and completed the entire workbook, and he’s excited to let her know that. Then he can read in front of the class and they won’t be able to call him stupid. 

She opens the workbook to a page and asks him if he can read it for her. He does, not skipping a beat. His reward is a smile, and it’s enough to make him smile, too. 

“Congratulations, Arthur!” Her eyes are bright as she pulls the workbook back and flips to another page. “How about this one?”

“I did them all already,” he says, squirming with excitement and pride.

Her eyes widen, and she blinks as she pulls back the workbook. “ _All_ of them?”

He nods vigorously and beams. “Uh huh! All of them! Look!”

He reaches for the workbook and reads page after page until she holds up her hand for him to stop. She looks happy, but it’s hard to tell. Either way, Arthur is fit to burst he’s so proud of his accomplishment.

“I…I see!” His teacher says, pulling the workbook back though she keeps her gaze on Arthur. “You learned very fast, Arthur!”

He blushes a little and smiles as he stares at his feet swinging in his chair. Yes, he worked hard and it paid off. It will continue to pay off, he’s sure of it.

Nothing is more satisfying than when his teacher asks him to read a bit of a story in class the following day, and he’s able to do so despite the snickering in the room around him. The shocked expressions on the other children are the best reward he could hope for.

* * *

It becomes rapidly clear to Arthur that the class is moving at a pace that is far too slow for him. While he started off far behind everyone else, he now wants to move at a much faster pace. He doesn’t care much for art projects and school plays and field trips he can’t go on. The other children still don’t like him, so he gets no enjoyment from the activities where he’s meant to work with others. He’d much rather that they spend more time taking trips to the library to check out books they want to read. Even more, he wants to learn more science and math, more history and of course learn more vocabulary so he can read more difficult things. The class is holding him back rather than pushing him forward.

He wonders if all of school will be like this—where he learns everything quickly and is forced to sit through lessons about things he learns by himself at a much faster pace. He’s been telling himself that going to school is a good thing because it means less time at home, and because he’s in school, he hasn’t been hit or yelled at as often. He’s managed to avoid getting black eyes, at least. The bruises on his arms are easy enough to hide with long sleeves.

He sits in class and ignores the papers thrown at him by the children near him, instead reading the book he got during the last trip to the library, because the math lesson is something he already taught himself by reading through the workbook. When school is over, Arthur packs his books in his plastic bag and waits until everyone else has left the room before he walks slowly to the door. He always takes his time going home. 

Before he can get out the door, his teacher holds up a hand to stop him.

“Arthur, hold on a minute.”

Arthur pauses, but walks over to stand in front of the teacher’s desk. She smiles at him, but it just makes him uncomfortable this time. He looks down at the floor.

“Arthur, have you been reading ahead?”

His gaze flickers up to her face and then he looks down at his feet again. He should have known he’d be caught sooner or later. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Hmm. Well, we just might be able to do something about that. I’ll have to talk with your parents first, though.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he whips his head up to stare at her with wide eyes. She’s still smiling, but it feels like a death sentence. He’s in trouble for reading ahead, he knows it. Now his father will learn all about it. Maybe his father will actually kill him this time. He starts to tremble, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She stands up and ushers him out the door. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Arthur! Have a good day!”

He stumbles out the door and pauses in the hallway. The overwhelming urge to cry washes over him, but he bites down on his lip to stop it. He wanted things to get better, but maybe they’re just going to get worse. He runs home instead of taking his time so he can unplug the phone, even though he knows it’s a very temporary fix. His father will learn of what he’s done sooner or later, so he has to do something on a much grander scale to save himself.

Up until then he’s always just ignored it when the other children make fun of him—just walked it off when they try to trip him or throw things at him. Not anymore, he decides. He’ll get his teacher to take her mind off of him reading ahead in the books through the only way he really knows how.

The following day as he walks towards the school he is met with the usual jeers about how he’s an ugly, big eyebrows idiot, but instead of walking by and pretending he doesn’t hear them, he walks up to one of the boys and shoves him hard enough to knock him over.

“Belt up, you stupid arse!”

The boy stares up at him with wide eyes, while the other children stand in shocked silence. Arthur kicks at the dirt near the boy, making him flinch, and then heads inside the school.

Inside the classroom, he catches any papers thrown at him and throws them back, shooting glares at everyone. Their confusion over his sudden aggression is even a little amusing, but more noticeable and more important to him is that his teacher keeps watching him with a furrowed brow. As long as she takes her mind off calling his father about reading ahead, that’s all that matters.

He’s never been one for picking fights. At home he always just takes what is thrown at him, because he’s too small to really fight back. In this case, other children his age aren’t the threat that his father and his brothers are. He can fight back this time, and he does. 

The first time he makes another person cry, he’s surprised to find that it feels good to do so. The other boy sits on the ground, crying because his lip is bleeding after Arthur punched him. One of the girls runs off to tell the teacher, but Arthur pays her no mind. He stands, staring at the little boy he managed to hurt and reveling in how he has the power to do so.

His success is short-lived, though, when the girl comes back with the teacher and points at him and yells at how he’s a meanie and a bully. The look on his teacher’s face says that it’s not something that will simply be brushed off. He’s really in trouble this time. He’s led by the arm back to the classroom, where he’s made to sit in front of her desk.

“Arthur, what is going on? Why did you hurt Eddie like that?”

He scowls and looks away, clutching at his dirtied trousers. He hears her sigh.

“This isn’t the first time, either. I’ve noticed you pushing the other children and saying bad words. Erica has been saying those things at home and has gotten in big trouble for them!”

Arthur grinds his teeth and deepens his scowl. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t what happens to the other children. They hurt him first.

“I’ll have to call your parents. We need to talk about fixing this behavior.”

That is enough to get Arthur’s full attention. He looks up at her, eyes wide. He shakes his head furiously.

“No! You can’t!”

“I’m afraid I _can_ , Arthur.” She sighs again. “What happened? You were doing so well and making so much progress…”

“No! You can’t! Please?” 

The disappointed look on her face tells him everything he needs to know. His plan backfired. This is the end.

He doesn’t wait until the school day is over before he sneaks out and runs home, leaving behind his books and everything that he had painstakingly learned to read. His only option is to never go back to school, and maybe if he’s not there anymore, his teacher won’t call his father. 

The following morning, rather than leave after Rhys and Owen, he stays in his room and waits. The telephone rings at one point, but he ignores it. 

He’s in the kitchen reading one of the picture books he found in a closet when Scott comes home, and Arthur tenses, waiting to see if anything will happen. Scott shrugs off his bag and tilts his head.

“What the hell are you doing here, brat? Weren’t you going to school?”

“No. I’m not going back,” he says simply.

Scott runs a hand through his hair and laughs, though Arthur knows it’s not in a friendly or happy way. “Good luck explaining that to that old bastard. Guess I’ll have one less brat to worry about.”

Arthur wants to point out that Scott has never worried about him to begin with, but he knows that Scott has a point. No doubt all of his actions will have consequences more severe than anything he’s ever faced before. Not just a black eye or a sore arm—no, it will probably be broken limbs at the very best. No doubt he’ll be yelled at until his ears ring. He can already hear his father’s voice calling him disgusting and worthless. He shifts in his chair and refocuses his attention on the book. 

There’s no point in running or hiding, though, because he has nowhere to go. It’s better to accept his fate at this point. The sooner it happens, the sooner it will be over. Rhys and Owen eventually come home, too, but before they can say anything to Arthur, Scott calls them away. That more than anything scares Arthur.

Arthur hides the picture book back in the closet before his father comes home, but despite how much he wants to, he doesn’t hide behind the stacks of storage bins or coats that have fallen onto the floor. He starts to shake, but he takes his seat at the kitchen table again. 

It’s actually a disappointment when his father comes home and isn’t drunk—perhaps he would be too inebriated to care about what Arthur had done otherwise. His father would still hit him, no doubt, but not for the reasons he’s afraid of.

His father goes straight for the cabinet where he hides his alcohol and retrieves a bottle, and Arthur relaxes. His father doesn’t know yet, he’s safe for another day. Just as his father turns around and opens his mouth, the telephone rings. Arthur freezes, and his father leaves the room. Arthur knows almost immediately what the conversation is about, judging from the way his father reacts to it.

He hears his father talking in that way he does when he’s lying but doesn’t want anyone to know. He hates that tone of voice even more than when his father is angry. He despises it and the lies it always represents. He hears something about homeschooling and how his father is sorry for the inconvenience, but he’s not really listening. 

When his father is done, he comes into the kitchen where Arthur is sitting, and they watch each other. His father is furious despite how calm he appears to be, but Arthur returns his father’s gaze with a defiant one of his own.

Although not fast enough to dodge it, Arthur manages to lift his hand in time to shield his face from the bottle that is thrown at him. It shatters against his hand, cutting it, but he merely flinches in response. His father says nothing as he leaves the room, and Arthur waits until he hears the sound of his father’s bedroom door clicking shut before he slides off the chair clutching his bleeding hand. He shuts himself in the bathroom and rinses off the wound in the sink. He’s not sure who keeps bringing them home, but there are always plenty of bandages in the cabinet. He’s getting better at it, but he still bandages his hand in a clumsy fashion. It’s enough that the wound is covered and he won’t get blood everywhere.

He returns to his room and Rhys gives him a blank look. Normally such silence would be a relief, but in this case it means more than words. Arthur may have escaped with just a cut hand for now, but that won’t be the end of it. He’ll face far worse from now on and they both know it.

He retrieves the book he keeps hidden under his mattress—a book of fairytales he’d managed to sneak from his father’s book collection. He opens it up as he sits on his bed, hugging his knees close to his chest. Now that he knows how to read, there is nothing to stop him from making his escape into a story.

* * *

It’s better to be ignored than to be noticed. 

Now, especially, after months of enduring a nearly endless onslaught of reminders of how badly he fucked up, he just wants to disappear. 

The house is a lie. It’s something he’s started to notice. On the outside it appears to be a clean and safe—a fine environment for four boys to grow up in. His father plays the part well, too. He appears to be a fine English gentleman—a good man who works hard to support his family after the departure of his wife. No one would ever suspect what really goes on in that house. A drunken father who makes his eldest son work to cover some of their living expenses, two younger boys who put on airs that everything is all right, and the youngest child whose basic needs are rarely met.

But Arthur isn’t worrying about that as much anymore. It’s true that he rarely has anything to eat, but he’s learned—or perhaps adjusted—to sustaining himself on very little food. A sandwich in the morning and a sandwich in the evening and he’s set for the day. His clothes he continues to get from his brothers before they can be thrown out, even if they’re always too big for him. Sleep depends on the day, and on the moods of everyone else. Some days he may sleep through the night, others he may be dragged out by his feet.

These are things he decides to overlook. It’s better to be ignored than to be noticed. He can’t stop everything, but the less he complains, the less harm he brings upon himself.

He remains in that house as little as possible, though. He decided one day that staying at home was doing nothing for him. He wasn’t learning like he wanted and it just gave his family more opportunities to remind him of how worthless he was. Wandering aimlessly around town would be more fulfilling, or so he thought. 

He makes it a point to pick up every bit of change he finds on the street, keeping it in a small box he hides under his mattress with his small collection of books. He has a goal in mind for that money, one that will benefit him greatly. He drops a quarter in the box, but then dumps the money out on his bed to count. He smiles when he realizes he has enough to buy what he’s been saving up for.

A pocket dictionary—something to bring with him for when he needs to look up a word he doesn’t know or understand. It won’t have everything he needs, but it’s a step in the right direction. After all, he’s taking his education into his own hands now. Handing over his box of change to the clerk at the bookshop in exchange for his new dictionary is one of the most—if not _the_ most—exciting moments he’s experienced since he dropped out of school.

He’d started wandering in the hopes of finding somewhere he could hide for as long as possible. Instead he found the library, and it was the greatest discovery of his young life.

The library is his sanctuary—a treasure trove of stories and information that he’s eager to discover. The children’s picture books and fairytales are no longer enough to sate his hunger for knowledge, but the books he wants to read are full of words he doesn’t understand.

That’s where the dictionary comes in.

He sneaks in every morning trailing behind an adult so he won’t be spotted by one of the librarians then makes a beeline for the rows and rows of books. Occasionally one of the other patrons will spot him and ask him why he’s not in school, but the issue is never pursued beyond those simple inquiries. He doesn’t cause enough of a ruckus for anyone to consider him more than an anomaly.

With the acquisition of his pocket dictionary, his routine changes. He first heads for the instructional books. While the thought of being able to read those longer stories that have caught his eye is very tempting, he is also determined to educate himself. So while he doesn’t care much for things like math or science, he devotes time every single day to reading about such subjects, using what little scraps of paper he can retrieve from the intimidating computer terminals to work through problems and theories. He also reads about history and music, along with more practical matters such as a much more proper way he can bandage his wounds.

After his set education time comes the part of his library visits that he most looks forward to—the novels. He scours the rows of books, climbing on stepstools and reaching for books that catch his eye. He takes his small collection of books and hides in a large chair in a quiet corner of the library where very few people ever come. His own little hiding place. With the dictionary close at hand and the comfort of a book in his lap, he loses himself in the stories.

He imagines that he can travel with the pirates in _Treasure Island_ , that a fairy godmother will come to grant his wishes and help him get away from his cruel family just like in “Cinderella”, and that even after a childhood of pain and crime, he’ll find someone to love him just like in _Oliver Twist_. His favorite, though, is imagining that he falls down the rabbit hole into Wonderland and thus _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ is the book he reads more than once, each time enjoying it as much, if not more, than the last.

He believes in those stories, too. Someday he’ll have his own happy ending. Someday he’ll find a place where he’ll be surrounded by people who love him and tell him that he’s so smart and wonderful, not that he’s stupid and worthless. Someday he won’t have to hurt anymore.

At the end of the day, he sneaks out again with the other people who stay until the library closes for the evening. This routine continues for months, and Arthur learns and reads at a pace he knows he would never enjoy had he stayed in school. He doesn’t have to deal with other children making fun of him or teachers getting him in trouble for wanting to read ahead. It’s just him, and he sets difficult but attainable goals for himself. No one else will cheer him on or congratulate him for his successes, but that doesn’t matter. One day they’ll notice him again, but not because he’s worthless.

The other library patrons check out their books to take home with them, but while Arthur would love to take home books to read in the quiet of a closet when he can’t be at the library, he doesn’t want to announce his presence to the librarians, either. They’ll ask about his parents or how he manages to get to the library or other such questions that will get him in trouble again. The library is his chance, and he won’t ruin it for himself.

The comfort of his routine changes slowly, beginning with one of the instructional books he finds during his daily sweep. It’s a book about how to sew, and while it’s work he knows is associated with women, it’s work he knows will assist him. His clothing is limited, so it’s all the better to make what he has last longer. He might even be able to adjust his clothes to fit better.

Reading about it in a book is one thing—actually _using_ what he learns is another. The problem is that he doesn’t have the tools he needs and, as far as he’s aware, there is nothing like that in the house, either. 

He starts to collect the change he finds on his way to and from the library again, also pausing to pick up the coins that people drop beside the various machines throughout the library. These he adds to his box, keeping it hidden underneath his mattress where no one will be able to find it and take it from him.

It’s exciting when he has enough to buy himself a basic sewing kit, but unlike the dictionary, he can’t hide the existence of the sewing kit at home.

Even so, he takes notes at the library, tucking the little pieces of paper into his dictionary to take home with him. At home he takes a shirt he won’t ever wear again and practices with the sewing kit, applying what he learned in the library to real life. He’s not really sure how to use thimbles, so he winds up pricking his fingers many times, leaving little marks. Although he tries to hide what he’s doing from the rest of his family, his attempts to be discreet are successful for only so long.

He sits on the floor of his bedroom, repairing a tear in the shirt when Rhys comes in and sees what he’s doing. Arthur scowls at him, but he resumes working without saying anything. Rhys comes over and pulls the shirt out of his hands, taking the needle and thread with it. Arthur climbs to his feet and shoves Rhys, who doesn’t even flinch.

“What’s this then?” Rhys looks the shirt over and kicks Arthur away when he tries to grab it. “Trying to be a woman now, brat?”

“Shut up! You’re an idiot!” 

Arthur kicks at Rhys’s shins, which predictably backfires. He’s thrown against the wall and he squirms as Rhys holds him there. 

“And you’re a worthless little brat who shouldn’t even exist.”

“Just give me my shirt, Rhys!”

After flailing and kicking at Rhys, he’s finally thrown against the floor. He flinches when Rhys throws the shirt at him, too. He looks out from underneath it to see Rhys leaving the room again.

“I wish you were dead,” Rhys says in a cold voice.

Arthur stares at the door, letting out a sigh as he adjusts himself on the floor again with the shirt. He stares at it for a moment before he grabs the needle and resumes sewing. Now that Rhys knows, Owen and Scott will find out, and eventually his father will know about it, too. Then they’ll try to take his sewing kit away from him like they do with his books.

He lifts the shirt and stares at his work—sloppy, but not bad for a first effort. He rips out the thread so he can start anew.

* * *

Arthur keeps his head down as he enters the library, obscuring his left eye as he follows a well-dressed man. A little boy on his own already sticks out, so a little boy with a black eye will surely draw attention he doesn’t want.

The black eye is a result of his refusing to explain where he got the money for the sewing kit, but even if the answer is as simple as he saved up coins to buy it, he doesn’t want his father knowing about the box he keeps under his mattress.

He slips inside, but with his head down he doesn’t immediately notice when the man he’s following moves away, leaving him out in the open. He lifts his head in surprise, only to meet the gaze of one of the librarians, who lowers the books she’s carrying to regard him. He freezes and bolts for his far end of the library where he rarely ever sees anyone go. 

His heart is pounding as he stops running, but it’s not from exertion. He’s been spotted at the worst possible time. He wants to curl up and disappear, go down the rabbit hole into Wonderland and escape. He waits for a few minutes to see if he’ll be followed and, when no librarian appears in his corner, he relaxes and quietly moves among the bookshelves to retrieve a book he can read. He’ll have to skip his education time today and probably leave early—anything to protect his one last safe haven.

Up on a high shelf is a book he’s wanted to read for awhile and now that his time is being cut short, he might as well start on it. He pushes the stepstool underneath the book, but even as he stands on the top step, he’s still too short to reach it. He stands on his tiptoes, gritting his teeth as he reaches as far as he can. His hand finally closes around the book and he pulls on it in triumph, only to pull several other books along with it. He gasps as books fall down around him, making plenty of noise. When the noise stops, he knows he needs to run away and quickly.

“Excuse me, young man.”

He freezes when he recognizes the sound of the librarian’s voice. It’s the young librarian. He tightens his grip on the book as he contemplates running. She won’t chase him, he’d be able to get away. Instead he slowly climbs off the stepstool, but keeps his head bowed as he turns around.

“I’m sorry I dropped the books,” he says, hoping she’ll accept the apology and leave him alone. He stares at her shoes, and she doesn’t move.

“It’s all right, that can be cleaned up. You really like coming here, don’t you?”

He stiffens, but stops himself before he can look up at her. The realization that she’s seen him all along renders him unable to speak. He clutches at his book as though it will somehow take him away.

“Do you like to read?” she asks and takes a step closer to him, making him draw back.

“Yes, ma’am. I love to read.” He looks up at her, realizing his mistake too late. He gasps and turns his head slightly to the side.

Her eyes widen and he cringes, knowing she’s seen his eye. 

“What happened? Did one of the books hit you? Come on, we’ll get you something to put on that!”

She holds out her hand and he pauses, looking from her hand to her face, which is filled with worry. He slowly nods and takes her hand, following behind her with his book still in hand. She leads him to a small room in the back labeled “Staff Only” and gestures for him to sit down at a small table. He slowly climbs into the chair and places his book on the table, looking around while she rummages in a small refrigerator. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an ice pack, but this will do for now. Can I…put this against your eye?”

She holds up a paper towel that is wrapped around something and he nods, flinching when she presses the towel against his eye—ice. 

“There…that feels better, doesn’t it?” She smiles, and Arthur just nods solemnly. She doesn’t need to know that the bruise isn’t brand new. “Can you hold it in place?”

He grabs the towel and she pulls her hand away. She tilts her head as she reads the title of the book lying on the table.

“Brave New World, hmm? Bit difficult for someone your age.”

“I like the hard books,” he says in a soft voice and blushes slightly.

“I do, too. …oh!” She claps her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, is your mother here in the library? I’ll page her to let her know what happened!”

“No, she’s not,” he replies. Just the mention of his mother makes his heart twist.

“Oh, your father then. What’s your name? I’m sure he’ll be worried about you!”

He looks down and chews on the inside of his cheeks. Yes, normal children would have parents that would be worried if they got a black eye, not _give_ them one. “Can I go, please?”

She’s silent for a moment but then she stands. “Of course.”

He’s quick to abandon the paper towel and scramble with his book out of the room. He retreats to a different part of the library, but he can’t focus on the book. The librarian will probably notice that he’s still alone and question him more. Instead of putting it away like he usually does, he leaves the book on a chair as he slips out with a distracted mother.

Despite the part of him that says it’s a bad idea, Arthur decides to return to the library. That librarian won’t be working every day, he assures himself. He’ll just have to be extra careful when she is.

The moment he steps into the library the next day, however, she spots him and waves at him. He grimaces as she approaches him, but rather than run, he just stands there. There’s no point in trying to get to his usual corner because now she knows about it and will find him. Better to just talk to her and get it over with so he can excuse himself.

“Hello again!” 

Her voice is bright and Arthur blushes slightly. She is pretty, kind of, and she’s been nice to him, too. He’s never really thought about that kind of thing before. He peers up at her to see her looking around with a furrowed brow. 

“Did you come alone?”

He kicks at the floor, not wanting to answer the question. He doesn’t want to be a liar like his father, either. She remains silent for a moment.

“Your eye looks better today! I hope your mother wasn’t too worried.”

Arthur turns his attention to the floor and chews on his lip. “Can I go read now, please?”

He looks up at her, and she has a strange expression on her face for a moment as she stares at him. He cowers a little, which makes her expression soften. “Of course, but may I recommend a book for you to read first? Something that’s a little happier than Brave New World?”

Before he can respond, she starts to walk toward one of the bookshelves. It’s a good opportunity to slip away, but he follows her instead. She walks down one of the rows he’s already visited before and grabs a book. She smiles as she holds it out. _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_.

“This is a wonderful book! You should try reading it.”

“I’ve read that one a few times. It’s my favorite,” Arthur says in a soft voice and he smiles shyly. It makes her expression brighten.

“Oh? Hmm…how about the sequel? Through the Looking-Glass?” She puts the book back and turns to smile at him.

He nods. “Yes, I loved that one.”

“Well, and here I thought I’d surprise you with something new! Oh well, there’s bound to be something I can introduce you to!”

She claps her hands together and scans the shelves for something else.

The search for a book turns into a conversation—mostly on her side—about what books they’ve both read and their opinions on them. He surprises her with the number of books he’s read—she’s particularly surprised when he mentions reading such things as _Crime and Punishment_ and _Les Misérables_ —but he also learns that there are a great deal of books he hasn’t read yet. Arthur learns that her name is Mary, and she loved to read as a child, too. With some hesitation Arthur tells her his name, as well, though he’s careful to not mention his last name. She starts to ask other things about him and his family, but she ignores her questions, instead switching the conversation back to the topic of books each time.

By the time he settles on reading _Frankenstein_ —despite the warning that it might be too scary for him—it’s already time for him to leave. Mary leads him to the exit, but stops him with her hand on his shoulder.

“Arthur?”

He turns to look at her, and she gives him a slightly lopsided smile.

“Will you come back tomorrow? There’s something I want to do and it’s important that you’re here, okay?” She wrings her hands, but her smile brightens.

He nods and gives her a smile. “Okay! I will!”

“Okay, good! See you tomorrow then, Arthur!”

She waves at him as he leaves, and he skips part of the way home. He has plenty of new books to read and he’s made his first real friend, finally. He laughs as he spreads his arms and runs down the empty sidewalk.

The following day he skips down the sidewalk again, this time armed with a flower he took from a bush that was hanging out of someone’s yard. He hopes it will make Mary smile. He beams as he walks, feeling as though his life is finally taking another step in the right direction. 

There is a police car outside the library, which makes Arthur stiffen and drop the flower. He quietly sneaks up to the entrance to see what’s going on, and he sees Mary speaking with the police officer. He sneaks in behind a man and hides in the foyer, listening into the conversation as best he can. He hears his name, and his blood runs cold. She’s telling the police about him. She betrayed him. He trusted her and she betrayed him. He slips back out the door and runs until his legs hurt and he stops to catch his breath.

She was being so nice to him, and it was all to trick him. She just wanted to turn him into the police for sneaking into the library without a parent. Tears well up in his eyes, but he bites on his tongue to prevent them from falling. Why do people always betray him? Why can’t someone be nice to him without wanting to hurt him? He sniffles, and the noise makes him scowl.

There’s no point in being upset. Being upset is exactly what people want from him. No, it’s not worth getting upset over what Mary did to him. He’ll just have to find another library to spend his days in. He’ll probably have to walk a longer distance every day, but it will be worth it in the end. 

So he resolves, but his wandering leads him into the even scarier bustle of the city, rather than just the outskirts of it. There are dirty people digging in trash bins everywhere, and lots of people in suits too busy talking on their telephones to pay attention to the little boy they keep bumping into. After seeing too many cars and buildings he can’t see the top of, he ends up too scared to wander any further, only to realize that he has no idea where he came from, either.

In a panic he runs aimlessly in the direction he thinks he came from, only to encounter more and more buildings and cars and people who pay no attention to him.

By the time he reaches an area that seems even vaguely familiar, he’s trembling violently and it’s already getting dark—long after he would have already been at home. His steps are shaky as he walks home, and it’s well after dark when he knocks on the locked door to be let in.

His father is the one to open the door, so Arthur doesn’t even bother trying to resist as he’s grabbed by the arm and hauled up to his father’s level. He cringes, but doesn’t struggle. It’s best if he doesn’t.

“And where were you, sprog?”

His father is drunk—he can smell the liquor on his breath. Arthur looks him in the eye anyway.

“I wasn’t anywhere,” he says—not a complete lie.

His arm is wrenched and he’s thrown against the floor. He winces, but then his eyes fall on his dictionary, which must have fallen out of his pocket when his father picked him up. He scrambles to his feet to grab it, but his father picks it up first.

“A dictionary? A worthless thing like you doesn’t need this,” his father says and rips out a page.

“No, don’t! Please!” Arthur tries to grab it, but he’s pushed back.

He watches in horror as his pocket dictionary is torn to tiny pieces, rendering it completely useless. He falls to his knees and scrambles to pick up the pieces, only to be kneed in the face. He falls back, clutching his jaw and watching as his last chance to improve his life is destroyed.

When his father is done, he drops what little remains of the dictionary and stumbles out of the room.

Arthur stays kneeling on the floor and staring at the remnants of his dictionary, and his chest hurts. He wants to cry, but he finds he can’t. It’s as though he no longer has the ability to do anything but kneel there with his chest feeling so tight it almost takes his breath away. The pain is bad enough to distract him from the throbbing in his jaw. This was his last chance and now it’s gone.

It’s never going to get better. The stories in those books he spent day after day reading were just that—stories. Fiction, fairytales—things that will never happen in the real world. Love is a lie, a horrible lie meant to fool him into thinking that one day he’ll be happy again and there will be someone who will take care of him and never hurt him. Kindness is just a front people use to get his guard down so they can betray him. Everything that’s ever happened to him has proven that fact.

He slowly stands up, swaying slightly on his feet as he drags himself to his room and collapses on the bed. It’s all over. There are no more chances, there is only giving up and giving in.

The best thing he can do is not care anymore—ignore pain, not allow anyone to fool him into thinking that they’ll treat him with kindness when they really think the world would be better off without him in it. He’ll close off his heart to everyone and never let anyone matter.

He curls up into a ball and glares at the wall. 

If he doesn’t care, nothing will be able to hurt him anymore.

* * *

There is a small movie theatre not too far from his house that shows old films almost every day, and while Arthur never pays for his admission, he is never kicked out either. The theatre is often empty, so Arthur’s presence goes unnoticed. 

What Arthur is most interested in is the way they talk in these old movies. Not an English one like he has, but not flat like most of the American accents he hears. He listens to the way they speak—to the way they sound so very _educated_ —and he emulates it. He doesn’t want an English accent anymore—it’s what his father has and he hates it. He hates everything about it. He doesn’t want one of those American accents either, though. They sound too flat—not smart enough. He pays close attention to the way he speaks, practicing in quiet alleyways until he finds a sound he likes. It’s not quite like in the films, but it’s also not English or American.

Regardless of his actual situation, he tries to seem educated. His clothes are too big, but he’s fine with that now. It hides how underweight he is and often hides his bruises and scars, as well. He still uses the sewing kit, which he has vastly improved with, to mend and adjust his clothing as needed. He makes sure to pay attention to grooming himself so he is clean, so no one will be able to accuse him of being dirty. Now he can speak in a way that says he is much smarter than people give him credit for.

He’s found another library to spend time in, but rather than spend entire days there, he only spends a few hours before he takes to the streets again. He had spent time in the library to educate himself and improve his life, but he knows that’s a futile effort now. The time he spends in the library is now just a distraction to make the days shorter. Now he also spends time wandering around the city. The tall buildings and large numbers of cars that had so frightened him before are barely acknowledged now. He weaves in between the people as he walks to nowhere in particular. 

That’s all his life is now—aimless wandering to pass the time. That’s all his life will ever be.

He continues to collect change that he finds on the ground, though he has nothing to buy. Just having a little money that he can hide from the rest of his family makes him feel better, like he has a little power.

He’s also taken to loitering and just watching people, whether they realize it or not. He watches people as they go about their daily lives, all of which are just as pointless as his. They’re just better at pretending that they have something to live for. He watches them and he hates them, because they’re all liars.

In an alleyway he sees something shiny poking out of someone’s garbage bin, which he steps forward to investigate. He doesn’t have the chance before a loud noise above him makes him jump.

“You worthless punk, get the fuck away from there!”

He barely dodges a piece of garbage that’s thrown at him, and he looks up to see a man hanging out of a window and glaring at him. He glares back and sticks out his tongue at the man, only to have another piece of garbage thrown at him. Arthur jumps out of the way and glares at the man as he walks away.

An open warehouse catches his attention, and he hides against one of the doors, peering around it to peek inside the warehouse.

Two men are yelling at each other, though Arthur can’t understand just what it is they’re fighting about. Something about money, no doubt. That’s all anyone ever cares about. Arthur decides it’s not worth hanging around when one of the men suddenly pulls out a gun, making the other man hold up his hands and start babbling dumbly. Arthur’s eyes widen as the man with the gun steps forward and pulls the trigger, the gunshot echoing in the mostly empty warehouse.

Blood sprays everywhere, hitting everything surrounding the man’s body. Bits of flesh, or what Arthur can only assume is flesh, also explode everywhere. The sight is so horrifying that although Arthur wants to run, he watches as what used to be a man slumps to the ground and bleeds out everywhere. When the other man falls beside the body and starts to tear at it, Arthur finally snaps back to attention. He stumbles away, but he doesn’t get very far.

Arthur falls to his knees and vomits, choking on it as he inhales sharply at the same time. He coughs violently and shrinks back against the wall when he’s done, hugging his knees.

People are truly horrible. One day he might die like that. One day someone might take a gun to his head and blow him up. He breathes heavily and rocks back and forth as he tries to wipe the horrifying image of that man dying from his mind.

Slowly, he pulls himself together. He stands up, swaying a little, and takes a deep breath. The image is still crystal clear in his mind, but the horror begins to abate. 

It’s really just proof of how horrible people are. They have no problem hurting others, no problem _killing_ them just because of an argument. He probably _will_ die like that one day, but it’s probably just a fact of life. He’s beaten at home, so it would only make sense for him to also leave the world in such a violent way.

He brushes off his trousers and wipes at his mouth. He wrinkles his nose at the sight of vomit on his shirt, but he simply lowers his arm. He takes a deep breath and starts walking again.

At the age of ten, Arthur doesn’t care anymore.

* * *

People want him to be a worthless punk, so Arthur decides that if that’s what they want, that’s what he’ll be. He’ll act it and look it, at the same time keeping up his “educated” appearance just to mess with their heads. If anything, it’ll pass the time better.

The first time he tries to pickpocket someone, he’s caught, though he manages to get away. He was too slow and made too much noise. It’ll be easier if he picks someone with a purse who is too distracted to notice him reaching in and stealing whatever valuables he can get his hands on.

The first time he is successful he winds up with two dollars and a pack of gum. The money he plans to put in his box, the gum he stuffs into his mouth all at once. 

It’s not as though he needs the money or anything he can manage to steal from someone, it’s more a matter of proving to himself that he _can_ do it. He doesn’t actually care if he gets caught, either. People have already decided what he is, all the better for him to prove their assumptions correct.

The first time he is caught and doesn’t get away, Arthur has his first encounter with the police. When they ask him why he did it, he shrugs and ignores their attempts to chastise him for his behavior. Because he’s only eleven, he gets off with just a warning—that is, a warning and ride back home so they can speak with his father. 

Instead of listening to his father make up some more lies about him to get the police off of his back, he sits outside on the back steps and waits for what will inevitably happen once the police have left. There is no way he’ll actually get away with what he did.

When his father finally comes out, Arthur closes his eyes—doesn’t fight it.

* * *

Arthur has three older brothers—Scott, Owen and Rhys. They all hate him. They all blame him for making their mother leave. They blame him for their father always being angry. They all call him names and beat him up, even if he’s done nothing wrong. Even when they are getting along—what constitutes getting along among them, at least—Arthur can sense their underlying resentment. The closest age gap between Arthur and his brothers is six years, and he knows that they hate him for upsetting what was once a happy family. Everything is all his fault.

Scott is the oldest and usually the one Arthur sees the least of. That’s for the best, really, since Scott is also the one who beats him the hardest after his father. Scott is twenty-one—an adult—but he stays in that house because, like the rest of them, he has nowhere else to go. Perhaps most notable about Scott—other than his bulky build—is his red hair. The rest of them have varying shades of blond hair, so Scott’s red hair sticks out. It’s something Arthur has wondered about at times, though he knows better than to ask. Even an innocuous question, like asking if there is anyone with red hair in their family, could backfire horribly. Even if it didn’t, he’s not sure he wants to know about the rest of his family. 

Rhys is the youngest of the three, and Arthur shares a room with him, leaving him at Rhys’s mercy most often. Rhys, however, is the most harmless of the three, at least with physical injuries. Instead he’s the one who doesn’t hold back on insulting him every chance he gets. Rhys, though, is the only one of the siblings to have stayed in school and finished. Arthur almost envies him, except that he already knows that school is a waste of time.

Then there is Owen. Arthur is most afraid of him, because while Scott is rarely around and Rhys uses insults more than force, Owen is the one who most often muscles him. Owen is the one who follows through on his threats most often, he’s the one who will steal Arthur’s money if he finds it, he’s the one who will punish Arthur the most if he tries to fight back. Owen’s injury as a child has made him unable to work like Scott does, so he’s often home and more than willing to take out his frustrations on Arthur.

Arthur finds him out in their backyard, smoking and against his better judgment, Arthur approaches him. Owen also has a black eye, and Arthur knows fully well where it came from. He heard the yelling earlier.

Sometimes he forgets that he’s not the only one who suffers at their father’s hands. It’s easy to paint his brothers as ruthless villains because they beat him, too. It’s easier to detach himself from them if he does. He already knows that they don’t want him, so he shouldn’t feel guilty about not caring about them.

Even so, Arthur feels his stomach knot at the sight of Owen’s black eye. Owen is often attacked by their father because of his inability to work, even though their father was the one to cause the injury that rendered Owen unable to do so. Owen received that injury because of Arthur, and oftentimes after their father is done with Owen, Arthur wonders when Owen will seek him out to pass on the pain he suffered.

Owen is smoking, though, and it’s something Arthur has wanted to take up. Smoking will make him look older, so people won’t just write him and his behavior off as being a rebellious child. He is, of course, far too young to buy his own cigarettes, as no one will mistake a twelve-year-old for an adult. His brothers are his only option, and since Owen is the one who smokes most often, Owen is his best chance.

“May I have one of those?” he asks, standing a small distance away just in case.

Owen exhales in his direction, and Arthur coughs as a cloud of smoke is blown at him. Owen scoffs. “You’re too young for this, brat. Go back inside.”

Arthur stands up straighter and lifts his head. “I am not. I’m more than old enough to smoke, too.”

“It’ll make you sick, go away.”

“Give me one, I want to smoke!”

Owen stares at him, and Arthur tenses, ready to run if necessary. Bravado is recklessness in that house, and he already has a couple scars from burning cigarettes that have been pressed into his skin. But instead of coming after him, Owen rolls his eyes and reaches into his jacket for his carton of cigarettes. He holds it out and Arthur takes cautious steps forward, reaching out to grab one of the cigarettes. Owen replaces the carton in his jacket and pulls out a lighter instead. Arthur leans over to have the cigarette lit, and he feels like a real adult for a moment. He inhales, immediately coughing after. Owen laughs and shakes his head.

“Stupid brat. I knew you couldn’t handle it.”

Arthur continues to cough, but he forces himself to stop. “Yes, I can!” 

He inhales too sharply again, making himself cough, and Owen rolls his eyes. Arthur sticks with it and eventually gets the hang of the inhale and exhale motions. It’s not just that he’ll look older if he smokes—it’s calming. He feels relaxed for the first time since he can remember. Even Owen doesn’t bother him as he does it, instead remaining quiet as both of them enjoy their cigarettes.

From then on, smoking is his habit. If he can’t convince one of his brothers to buy him a new carton of cigarettes, he’ll talk some stupid adult into doing it for him.

* * *

“I’m going to pierce my ears.”

Arthur stares at his reflection, noting the blankness of his stare, and scowls at himself. 

“No, you worthless punk, you’re already trash. What makes you think you can put anything that has any value on your body when you’re worth nothing?”

His scowl deepens. He flashes his middle finger at the mirror.

“Fuck off.”

Tired of arguing with his reflection, Arthur glances down at the earrings he managed to steal from a pawn shop while the appraiser was distracted. They’re good quality gold, a mixture of studs and rings for him to choose from. For now he selects a gold stud, which he drops in some alcohol while he examines his ears. No infections or swelling to be seen. He takes a deep breath as he prepares his tools.

He takes great care to sterilize everything, especially the needle, and he makes sure to wash his hands before he grabs the needle out of the cup of alcohol he dropped it in. He wants this to go well, so he can’t be too careful. He grabs the needle and lines it up with his ear, pushing it in despite the resistance he’s met with.

This first piercing is a test to see how well it goes. There will be more if it’s successful. He pulls the needle out and replaces it with the gold stud. There is a little blood, but nothing he’s not used to anyway. His ear hurts despite the use of the ice. No matter, though, a little blood and stinging in the ear is a drop in the bucket. Should it become infected he’ll just remove it and try again later. 

More and more now, Arthur has been changing his appearance to suit the role people have assigned to him. His clothes have almost always been too big for him, but now they add to his look. He still mends his clothing, but he doesn’t make as many adjustments anymore. He cuts his own hair, leaving it unkempt. It’s easy to piss people off when he’s a smartass, smarmy teenager with messy hair and clothes that don’t fit, smoking even though he’s just a boy. Piercings will add to the look—complete it. 

It’s funny that people are angry at him for being a worthless delinquent and punk, when all they did was bring it upon themselves. He wouldn’t have decided to become one if they hadn’t labeled him as one.

The piercing heals without fanfare or infection, and Arthur repeats the process on his right ear. When that one heals, he repeats the process again, adding a second stud to his left ear. He continues this cycle until he has two studs in each lobe and one ring along each outer shell of his ear. 

The world wants a punk, he’ll give them a punk.

* * *

At the age of fourteen, Arthur spends more and more time away from his house, occasionally even sleeping outside when necessary. He’s gotten bolder—or perhaps more foolish—about fighting back when his father or brothers try to start something. They are all stubborn, though, and Arthur’s attempts to fight back just means that his family fights harder. In those situations, it’s better to not be at home. Even sleeping under a highway is a better option.

Petty larceny and loitering are child’s play. There is no longer any challenge in finding some clueless idiots who don’t watch after their personal property well enough, leaving it wide open for Arthur to sneak in and help himself to whatever he can find. Occasionally he’ll let himself get caught on purpose, just to mix things up. 

There is a certain police officer who brings him in—or at least attempts to—more often than any other, and the fact that Arthur is so despised by this particular man is amusing to him. He’s too young, and his supposed crimes too trivial for him to receive more than just a slap on the wrist. It drives the police officer crazy that he can’t throw Arthur in some juvenile detention center.

Not that Arthur wants to be locked up, but his current way of life is too boring—too safe. 

There are other people like him—people who don’t care, people who just like to piss off the police, people he can commiserate with.

Or, more specifically, people he can pick fights with.

What he lacks in strength and stature he makes up for in sheer resilience. Ten years of taking abuse has left him more than capable of handling some heavy hits. Years of having to sustain himself on very little has made him tough. He lacks presence, but all he has to do is be patient until his opportunity presents itself. 

Just like when he was a little boy rebelling against the children that had picked on him, Arthur relishes in the surge of power he feels when he has the upper hand and someone is at his mercy, rather than him always being at someone else’s. Moreover, a fight doesn’t leave obvious evidence of who started it, leaving Arthur with the opportunity to talk himself out of trouble.

It’s lying, and he hates liars, but that suits him just fine. He’s worthless anyway.

His boredom is not limited to just adding fights to his schedule. He attempts to converse with other people his age, though all interaction is merely skin deep. He doesn’t want friends, he doesn’t want lovers, he just wants to pass the time. Even with that, he can only tolerate the sound of another’s voice for so long before he’s had enough.

He doesn’t like kissing—it’s rather unpleasant, really. Kissing feels like a lie—like a promise of something that doesn’t actually exist. Kissing, however, is a good way to get people to shut their mouths—stop talking—and that, for him, is all the incentive he needs to kiss people. He finds that he’s very good at it, too. It comes naturally to him.

At this point in his life, adding fights and brushes to the police and messing with supposedly innocent teenagers, Arthur knows he’s on the fast track to his death. Someone will kill him someday, whether it be his family or someone he picks a fight with who happens to be strong enough to kill him or someone who simply has a lethal weapon on their hands.

Death doesn’t frighten him, though. He’s seen it enough times to know that it’s inevitable, if dirty. He, like many others, will die alone and unwanted, and that’s just what he wants.

* * *

“May I have a lighter for my cigarette, sir?”

The police officer—his old friend—leans against the table and glares at him. “No, you little shit. You can’t. You’re going to tell me whether you stole that woman’s jewelry or not.”

Arthur sighs and puts on the most forlorn look he can muster. “May I leave, officer? My dear mother will be worrying about me.”

The police officer’s nostrils flare, but he stalks off swearing. He has no evidence, no reason to detain Arthur, even if they both know he’s guilty.

* * *

When Arthur is sick, he almost always has to take care of himself. The fact that he’s sick does little to deter any abuse thrown his way, either, so it’s lucky for him that he mostly avoids illness despite his poor habits. 

Arthur is nothing if not resilient, but that doesn’t mean he can always avoid getting sick.

There are the occasional moments when he collapses on his bed only to wake up, delirious with a fever, and see someone leaning over him. Too weak to try to fight off whoever it is, he falls asleep. Rather than wake up in a different room or not wake up at all, Arthur wakes up underneath his blanket with a bowl of soup nearby.

He doesn’t ever question it. He doesn’t ever attempt to find out who did it. He always just eats the soup and pretends that nothing is out of the ordinary.

* * *

It’s on his fifteenth birthday that Arthur loses his virginity—some girl whose name he never learned. Her name isn’t what is important about that event, though. Arthur learns what sex feels like, and what he’s been missing out on all of that time.

He also learns something about his sexuality, which he’s never thought before. Rather, he’s forced to think about it when he’s rejected for being a “queer” and a “faggot” when he tries to come onto another man. He’s not picky about who he winds up feeling attracted to, because he’s also not picky about how much disdain he has for everyone regardless of their gender.

Even so, there _are_ men who are willing to have sex with him, though it's more often women. After the first time he buys condoms that he carries with him, as he doesn’t want to get some stupid girl pregnant, and the thought of his come in some idiot’s ass is hardly appealing. 

The relaxing effect that sex has prompts him to pursue other methods of unwinding and easing stress, as well. Rather, someone he winds up fucking one night offers him alcohol and marijuana before they have sex.

Alcohol has been something that Arthur has avoided, despite how he could have started drinking it at any time. There is always plenty of liquor in the house. His worthless bastard of a father is almost constantly drunk every night, which had always been enough of a deterrent for Arthur. The drugs he’s simply never seen. Arthur has never actually witnessed such a thing occurring in his house, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. It could just be that no one wants Arthur to find out and try to take some for himself like he did with the cigarettes.

If nothing else, drugs and alcohol add more opportunities for him to get in trouble, thus adding more opportunities for him to piss people off and smooth talk his way out of a bad situation.

He’s smoked enough over the years for the marijuana joint to be an easy transition. It’s even more calming than his first cigarette had been.

The alcohol—some kind of whiskey—burns his throat the first time he drinks it, making him cough. His bed partner for the night laughs at his side. Arthur suspects that the other man is at least a few years older than him. At least he must be old enough to have been able to buy the whiskey. Arthur drinks more just thinking about it, ignoring the way the whiskey burns his throat.

It’s also his first time bottoming. The alcohol and drugs make it more bearable.

* * *

Although it’s less apart of his schedule than it used to be, Arthur still takes regular trips to the library. While everything else he thought mattered in his life vanished when he was a child, Arthur still retains his love for books and his love for the stories within them. He still loves to learn, even if he’s not learning to improve his life. He learns because he can. 

Apart from books, music has been another interest of his. The library has a fair selection of CDs, which he peruses when he wants to listen to someone else sing about how horrible the world is. 

One thing that hasn’t changed from childhood is that while he’s in the library he’s discreet. He doesn’t try to get in anyone’s way or draw any extra attention to himself, though his appearance alone makes people shrink away and draw their belongings closer to their bodies. Rather than get in someone’s face for his amusement, he turns a blind eye.

No, when he’s in the library, he’s there to drift away.

He browses the rows of books until he comes across what he’s looking for. He reaches up to pull the book off the shelf. _Brave New World_ —the book Mary stopped him from reading when he was nine. He huffs as he takes the book to a chair in a corner and sits down to read.

Now that he’s older and not a naïve fool like he’d been as a child, Arthur appreciates what is presented in the book. Rather than consider it a dystopia, he wonders why it’s not revered as a paradise. What is wrong with casual sex with multiple partners, never forming “romantic” attachments and giving out drugs to keep the population happy? 

He has similar feelings about _1984_ , though elements of that book turn him off.

When he’s done with _Brave New World_ , Arthur seeks out a book he’s read many times before over the years, flipping to a specific page that he’s read more than any.

“To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;  
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come  
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,  
Must give us pause: there's the respect  
That makes calamity of so long life”

Exchange this world for another one. He can’t imagine that any fires of hell could possibly be worse than life as it is now.

He’s read _Hamlet_ plenty of times, but that particular soliloquy has always stuck with him. He’s not afraid of death, he’s not afraid of hell, he’s not afraid of nothingness. He welcomes death, and everyone wants him dead anyway. He came into the world unwanted, and that’s how he’ll leave.

He reads the same lines over and over, repeating them in his head even when he stops.

The thought of his inevitable death is the only thing he could consider comforting. The only thing he can truly rely on is that one day he will die, and he won’t ever have to deal with any of this ever again.

* * *

“You’re always going to be pathetic and worthless. Always have been. That bitch shouldn’t have left you when I never wanted you.”

Arthur listens to those familiar words as he lights up a cigarette and stares out the car window. Even if his father hadn’t come to pick him up at the police station, he would have heard those same words again eventually. His father wouldn’t miss a chance to remind him of what a burden he is on everyone who comes in contact with him.

“Yes, Father, I know,” Arthur says, not bothering to mask his sarcasm. He hears his father grunt.

“I should have just left you there.”

Arthur scoffs and turns to look at his father, making sure to pointedly blow the smoke into his face.

“Then why didn’t you? It would have been an easy way to be rid of me, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps you’re afraid that there would have been an investigation? Children don’t turn out like this on their own, right? They might have tied this to you and then you would have—”

His words are cut off by his father slamming on the brakes then reaching over to punch him. Arthur drops his cigarette but otherwise doesn’t move, instead staying still as a metallic taste fills his mouth. He squares his jaw and bends down to pick up his fallen cigarette. He wipes at his mouth, ignoring the blood that stains his shirt when he does, and turns to look out the window in silence.

The moment they reach their home, Arthur turns to leave instead of going inside. His father gives him a dirty look, but says nothing.

In a mostly empty alleyway, Arthur stumbles upon a boy he’s never met before—a boy with hair so pale that it appears to be silver, and red eyes. That boy looks up with him with wide eyes, and Arthur knows he’s staring at his black eye and his swollen bleeding lip. He ignores his audacity and sits next to him, gesturing to the marijuana joint he’s rolling.

“Let me have that,” he says. The boy doesn’t refuse, and Arthur lights it up. “Arthur Kirkland.”

“Gilbert Beilschmidt,” the boy replies with a raised eyebrow, but Arthur pays him no mind. The introduction was a mere formality, since he knows he’ll never see Gilbert again.

But, unlike many people Arthur has met, he _does_ come across Gilbert again and then again, finally resigning himself to the fact that, while Gilbert is even more of an insufferable bastard than anyone else he has ever spent time with, Gilbert is also a reliable source of all of his fixes—alcohol, nicotine, and marijuana. Gilbert is also someone he can go on one of his crime sprees with, because it’s easier to steal valuable items when there are two of them. For one thing, one person can act as a lookout, and also that Gilbert acts as a perfect fall guy should the police show up. Arthur has no qualms about abandoning Gilbert to the police while he makes a clean getaway, and Gilbert has no way of proving that he was ever an accomplice.

Those things make the terrible company worthwhile.

Gilbert, however, is prone to babbling when drunk, and Arthur learns about Gilbert’s past. Gilbert had come from a well-to-do family which had unrealistic expectations of him, making him run away. Running meant he left his little brother behind, and Gilbert is still worried about him.

“You’re worried about a stupid little brat?” Arthur laughs, but Gilbert slams him against the wall. 

Not one to back down from a fight, Arthur kicks at him, earning a punch to face. They struggle with each other, and Arthur ultimately has to admit defeat when a blow to his jaw causes such intense pain that he can hardly see.

He avoids Gilbert for awhile after that, but he ultimately goes back. He has nothing better to do, and Gilbert is still a source of all the things he needs. Gilbert doesn’t seem to care that he comes back and neither mentions the incident.

Gilbert tries to kiss him once when they’re both under the influence of drugs and alcohol and Arthur immediately pulls away the moment their lips touch.

“Don’t ever do such a disgusting thing ever again,” he says, hissing the words and wiping at his mouth. He’s not so far gone that he’d tolerate that.

Gilbert huffs, but while he doesn’t attempt to kiss him again, he does grope at him. True, he hasn’t thought of having sex with Gilbert, but it’s not something he’ll say no to, either. Gilbert pushes him up against a building and pulls down his trousers, attempting to prepare him, but Arthur turns to glare over his shoulder.

“I’m not a goddamned woman, Beilschmidt. Just fuck me.”

He regrets saying it, because it hurts like a bitch. He knows better for the next time than to let Gilbert fuck him without a condom or any lubricant.

Because there _is_ a next time—many of them.

* * *

“He’s dead all right,” Gilbert says with a huff and stops nudging the body with his foot.

“Lucky bastard. Any money on him?” Arthur asks in curiosity and takes the moment to light up a joint.

“Nothing. Bone dry in here.” Gilbert rifles through the dead man’s pockets and retrieves a wallet. He pulls out a driver’s license and looks from the picture to the body. “Stuart Robinson, eh? Well, here’s to you, Mr. Robinson.”

“Jesus loves you more than you will know.” Arthur lets out a derisive snort. 

Gilbert stands up and brushes off his hands on his pants, then takes the joint out of Arthur’s hand.

“Have you ever dreamt about death?” Arthur asks after a period of silence as he casually reaches over and takes the joint out of Gilbert’s fingers, inhaling deeply once he has a hold on it.

Gilbert scowls and snatches it back. “What, like those dreams where you’re about to die and then you wake up instead? Why the fuck do you care?”

“No, I mean when you _actually_ die. When you feel every organ slowly shutting down. Your breath going ragged. Your heart stopping. Then…oblivion. Those dreams are the best kind.”

Gilbert gives him a disgusted look, giving Arthur ample opportunity to take back his joint. “…have I told you lately that you’re fucked up?”

“About twenty minutes ago, yes,” Arthur says flatly and blows an impressive smoke ring into the rancid air around them.

“Well, let me remind you again. You’re completely fucked up.”

Arthur momentarily considers smudging the burning end of the joint into Gilbert’s arm, but that would be a sad waste of marijuana, and Gilbert takes it again anyway. Arthur looks back down at the dead body, and the world is spinning.

* * *

Despite knowing that he can find Gilbert if he wants to have sex, it is also boring to have sex with the same person over and over. There is no point in that. His current bedmate is a girl with large breasts, who is far too loud while he fucks her, but she had seemed interested in him. Or at least interested in fucking him.

“I love you,” she says, giggling as he sets about pulling on his clothes again.

Arthur pauses for a moment then clicks his tongue and resumes pulling up his trousers.

“No, you don’t.”

She’s just like any other stupid girl that he’s fucked. She’s a “good” girl from a “good” school who sees him as a “bad boy” she is attracted to on a skin deep level only. Just like every other girl. In the end they just want to fuck him, which suits him fine. All he wants to do is fuck them, too. 

“But I do!” She stands up in bed and tries to hug him, and he wrenches himself out of her grasp.

“Go back to school. I’m sure you have an idiot boyfriend, don’t you?”

She pouts, but he ignores her. He doesn’t want her “love” or her lies. He pulls on the rest of his clothes and leaves, knowing that she won’t bother to find him again.

* * *

“And they believe they can ‘save’ me with their ‘love’ even though in the end they just want an easy fuck like anyone else,” Arthur says, taking a drink of the rum he managed to swipe.

Gilbert snorts and cackles. “Like anyone would ever actually love you, Kirkland.”

Arthur looks at Gilbert out of the corner of his eye and scoffs. “I never said I wanted them to. I don’t want their ‘love’. It means nothing to me.”

Gilbert takes the bottle from his hand and laughs again. “Only because you’re a fucking asshole no one wants.”

Arthur doesn’t respond. He lights up a cigarette instead, sitting in silence for a few minutes. “Do you know what love really is?”

“No, Kirkland. Bless me with your wisdom, oh please.”

Arthur gives Gilbert a pointed look, but chooses to ignore his sarcasm. “It’s lust. Overwhelming lust that people label as love so they feel better about their own perversion.”

Gilbert snorts. “So that must mean you really ‘love’ me, eh?”

“I despise you. However, unlike most people I don’t try to hide my lust behind the pretense of a nonexistent emotion like love.” 

Gilbert is quiet for a moment. “Hmm. Then what would you call family?”

The mere mention of that word makes Arthur stiffen, but he relaxes before Gilbert can notice and taps the ash from his cigarette. “...guilt.”

Gilbert doesn’t respond, but Arthur knows that he’s thinking about his brother and trying to convince himself that any affection he feels toward him is nothing like guilt. He’ll allow Gilbert his delusions.

“Or perhaps you can call family obligation, but that’s something like guilt, isn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up, Kirkland.” Gilbert’s tone is tinged with unmistakable rage.

Arthur shifts slightly away from Gilbert, but doesn’t leave. “Don’t ask if you don’t want an answer.”

* * *

Arthur wonders sometimes why his brothers stay in that house. They’re all adults, more than capable of leaving if they want. They could just as easily cut themselves from the horrible situation they’ve known for most of their lives. 

They are like Arthur in a way, though. He’s still a minor, but he would have nowhere to go even if he wasn’t. He has no formal education and hates people, so he couldn’t get a job. No, he’s simply resigned to the fact that he’s going to die at a very young age or perhaps he’ll finally commit a crime severe enough that he’ll finally be caught by the police and thrown in jail like his dear police officer friend wants. He’s sixteen, almost an adult. He can’t get away with the excuse that he’s just a child much longer.

They’re all trapped. Perhaps they’re all resigned to their inevitable fate of death, as well.

Arthur picks at his peanut butter sandwich in the kitchen—the only thing he can eat since Rhys managed to find his money and beat it from him. His father is also in the kitchen, though Arthur tries to ignore him.

“Look at you. You’re completely worthless. You should be dead.” His father is standing nearby, so close Arthur can smell the alcohol.

“Yes, I probably should.” Arthur takes a bite of his sandwich, but doesn’t look up. “But I suppose ‘god’ hasn’t decided to do away with me yet, hmm?”

He expects to be punched or perhaps thrown out of his chair and made to choke on his sandwich. Instead his father’s footsteps slowly move away from him.

“The sooner you die, the better,” his father says in a quiet voice and leaves the room.

Arthur stares at his sandwich then slowly lowers it. He throws it in the garbage bin, unable to eat anymore.

* * *

Arthur wakes up in the middle of the night to voices talking in hushed tones near his bed. His eyes flicker over to see the shadowed forms of Owen and Scott standing near him. He immediately shuts his eyes again and feigns sleep, though they’re deep in conversation and not paying attention to him anyway.

“…just one clean cut and it’ll be over.”

“And if not? What if he wakes up?”

“Hold him down then, we need to end this.”

He knows they’re next to him when the familiar smell of alcohol assaults his nostrils. His eyes open and he sees the glint of a knife just in type to spring upright in bed. 

“Shit—!”

Arthur’s not sure which one says it—or maybe if even he does—but he struggles to get out of bed and away from them. They really want to kill him this time, and he’ll be damned if he dies in his bed because they’re drunk. Owen tries to grab him, but Arthur squirms out of the way. Scott is the one with the knife, and Arthur tries to reach for it. He’s unable to do so, and Scott swipes it at him. Arthur twists out of the way, and he thinks he’s managed it until sudden sharp pain on the left side of his body shoots through him. 

Even through the darkness Arthur can see the blood rapidly appearing through his shirt and staining his bed. Arthur chokes.

Scott and Owen stare at him in silent shock, leaving Arthur open to flee to the bathroom, clutching at his side. Panic rushes through him as he stumbles inside and locks the door.

_It’s not that deep. It’s not that deep, calm down. Calm down, you bastard._

Even as he tries to assure himself that it’s not that deep of a wound and the shock of the sight of all that blood is messing with his head, he reels and slams heavily against the wall. Spots dot his vision and his skins goes cold despite the sweat beading on his forehead. He heaves and collapses onto the floor still clutching at his side. He can’t find the strength to lift himself off the floor before he vomits.

He fights to stay conscious despite his body’s desperate attempts at fainting, and he manages to right himself by grasping onto the sink and hauling himself up. He trembles violently and manages to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He’s very pale.

After bowing his head and taking a few deep breaths, Arthur manages to peel off his shirt and get a good look at what Scott did to him—a slice up the left side of his body. The sight nearly makes him faint, but he catches himself before he falls to the floor again.

He pulls himself together enough to clean the wound, revealing that it really is not that deep, but it hurts. With shaky hands he manages to dress the wound, leaving him with bandages almost all over his upper body. When he’s done, he collapses onto the floor and leans up against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He glances down at his bandaged wound, and some blood continues to seep through. He looks back up at the ceiling.

Perhaps he should have just let them do it.

* * *

“I used to see fairies when I was a child,” Arthur says, pausing to stare blankly ahead of him as he blows out a cloud of smoke.

Next to him, Gilbert snorts. “Ha ha, _what_?”

Arthur stares at the joint in his fingers and shakes his head, letting out a short huff. “They promised they would grant me a wish because I was pure of heart.”

Gilbert snorts again, then bursts out laughing—that obnoxious laugh of his that is somewhere between cackling and hissing. “Pure of heart? Holy _shit_ , Kirkland, are you sure that’s just pot you’re smoking? Fucking fairies, oh my god. Here, give that to me.”

The joint in his fingers is snatched away, but Arthur doesn’t bother to protest. He slowly turns his head to look at Gilbert, who wipes at his eyes before he takes a long drag, and then leans back to stare up at the sky.

It might not be because of the drugs, but it’s entirely possible that his mind is playing tricks on him. He might have dreamed up the fairies as a way of making himself feel better about his life before his mother left. Once upon a time, there was still magic in his life and he was friends with fairies who promised to grant him a wish.

Of course it sounds ridiculous. He’s too old and has seen too much to believe that such a thing could have ever been possible. Life is a joke, and that’s the way his has always been, no matter what he thinks he might remember.

“Fuck you, Beilschmidt,” he says, lowering his head to glare at Gilbert before he takes back his joint.

* * *

“Here. Happy Christmas, brat.”

There has always been an unspoken agreement among his entire family that they be civil to each other on Christmas—as though it is their mutual gift to each other that one day every year. 

Arthur, then, feels justified in being suspicious when Scott offers him a wrapped package on Christmas Day with Owen and Rhys standing nearby. He eyes it warily, but doesn’t take it until it’s thrown at him. 

“Just open it.”

He does open it after another moment’s hesitation, as he half expects it to be something that will kill him the moment the package is opened. After all, Scott really did try to kill him. It wouldn’t be all that surprising if he tried it again.

Instead of something that instantly kills him, Arthur finds a lighter. It’s not some cheap disposable lighter either—it’s a very high quality Zippo lighter made of real silver. Arthur carefully removes it from its packaging and stares at it. 

“Don’t think anything of it, brat. Just make sure you actually use it.”

His brothers leave him alone, and Arthur just stares at the lighter in silence. He finally puts it in his pocket, replacing the disposable one he’d been using before. Perhaps it’s a trap, something that they’ll use to blackmail him with later, or perhaps it really is rigged to kill him when he tries to light up a cigarette. He’ll find out eventually, either way.

He won’t question this, though. Whatever the motives behind the gift, he won’t question it. It’s better to never question anything that seems out of place.

* * *

Although Arthur has committed many crimes, he’s never done anything on a truly grand scale.

There is an apartment building that catches his attention—some place that houses a variety of people. It’s mostly young people, though—students and young parents starting their new families. He watches in disdain as these parents pay very little attention to their children, instead being more interested in trivial matters. People shouldn’t have children they don’t want. People shouldn’t have children to begin with. The world is already overflowing with worthless people.

Arthur watches this apartment building for a few days, noting the habits of many of its inhabitants. They’re all materialistic, self-centered people, and Arthur hates them even though he’s never met them. His observations are justification enough.

He’s never done anything on a truly grand scale, and this is a good place to start. He’ll leave them with plenty of opportunity to escape, but it will serve as a warning.

One night when it’s dark enough for his black clothes to blend in with the darkness around him but early enough for people to still be awake, Arthur sets to work. With a bit of lighter fluid and his Zippo lighter, Arthur starts a fire in the basement. It’s not long before people are screaming and running out of the building.

Because he’s feeling sarcastic, he hums “Rule, Britannia” as he watches the building burn from a short distance. He only leaves when he hears sirens.

* * *

It must have been a mutual murder, but how they both wound up dead is of no consequence to Arthur. All that he cares about is whether or not either of them has anything in their pockets. The police will eventually be notified and their bodies taken away, so Arthur has to act fast and carefully so as not to leave behind any evidence that he was there. Not that he would particularly care if he wound up tied to a murder, but he’s not in the mood to put on a show for the police.

There is not much to be found in their wallets—a bit of change and a few bills. Money must not have been the motive behind their mutual demises. Arthur scoffs as he tosses their wallets back onto their lifeless bodies and turns to leave. As he steps away, something in one of the men’s hands catches Arthur’s attention—a handgun. He stares at it for a moment, contemplating whether stealing a murder weapon is really worth the risk, and then reaches down to scoop it up and shove it into his coat pocket.

Just once—it doesn’t really matter how many bullets are left in the gun as long as he can fire it just once.

He doesn’t wait until he gets home before he pulls it out again in an alley by an abandoned shop. He turns it over in his hands, pleased to find that there is no blood or other damage that might render it unusable. The windows are filthy, but he can still see his reflection as he lifts the gun up to hold by the side of his head.

Worthless. He’s always been worthless and has always been reminded of that fact by everyone who has ever known him. If he dies, no one will care. He’ll be another body left to rot in an unmarked grave while no one wonders what happened to that worthless punk they hated so much.

It’s something he hasn’t really thought about, though he’s heard it many times—he should be dead. No, that’s not true. He’s constantly aware of that fact, some days more than others. He should be dead. Sometimes he wishes that he was. What he hasn’t really thought about is how he has always had the power to end everything for himself. It’s as simple as a single bullet to the head.

He removes the safety and grips the trigger, watching his own pathetic expression in the dirty windows. All he has to do is pull the trigger and everything will end. No more waking up and spending each day doing nothing that could be considered productive for society. No more abuse, no more jeers of how worthless he is. He’ll simply cease to exist. Not that he cares. He watches himself, staring at a face that no one loves—that no one wants. Worthless Arthur Kirkland. He starts to squeeze, narrowing his eyes, but then he stops.

For a moment he simply stares at his reflection—at the clothes that are too big for his lean frame, the dark circles around his eyes, the permanent scowl, the gun being held to the side of his head that he thinks will take everything away.

He smirks then lowers the gun, laughing in contempt at his own foolishness.

Death is too easy, and he doesn’t deserve the easy way out. He never has. Yes, he’s going to die one day, but it won’t be by his own hand. When he winds up in his unmarked grave with no one around to care, it will be because he finally goes too far—because the fact that he’s worthless and does nothing for anyone will finally mean the end of him.

He carefully wipes down the gun and tosses it into a dumpster and then he pulls out his carton of cigarettes, lighting one up. It’s still early in the day and at some point Gilbert will be around to distract him. He turns, sparing the dumpster one last lingering look before he sets off down the street.

* * *

The suburbs are often a good place to go for easy pickings, as oftentimes people are so comfortable in their false security that they leave their cars unlocked or their belongings unattended. 

But rather than search for money or valuables to steal, Arthur opts to loiter in front of a fast food restaurant merely for the enjoyment of how easy it is to rile up “good” and “decent” people just by standing there and smirking. Their looks of disdain and fear as they walk past him into the restaurant do not discourage him at all. Some of them speak of talking to a manager, which is exactly what Arthur wants. A manager will be summoned and the police will be called, and Arthur will talk his way out of the situation. He’s just waiting for his ride home, what is wrong with that? How could they possibly judge him just based on his looks?

Finally an employee comes out, and Arthur knows that he’ll be asked to leave the premises with the usual threats of police involvement, but rather than some blustering man with a cheap tie, it’s a teenager with smudged glasses and a friendly smile. Arthur almost feels cheated as he’s approached.

“Hey there! Do you think you could move elsewhere? Some of the customers aren’t very comfortable right now.”

* * *

“And I suppose you know what happens from there. There’s...not much more to say.”

Arthur lets out a deep shuddering breath and finally turns to look at Alfred, something he’s been avoiding since he started talking lest he lose his nerve. He expects to find disgust or contempt on Alfred’s face and that will be the end of everything. Alfred’s patience will have finally been exhausted.

But what he finds instead is Alfred’s eyes wide with horror. No disgust, no contempt, just horror. Alfred moves his mouth wordlessly then shakes his head.

“I...” he starts to say, but he chokes. He reaches forward and pulls Arthur into his arms, trembling even as he rubs Arthur’s back. “Arthur, I... I love you.”

Arthur freezes, staring blankly over Alfred’s shoulder. Suddenly he can’t breathe. Of course he would. Of course Alfred would still love him. Somehow he always knew that would be the case, but he was afraid—afraid that it’s been possible all along for worthless Arthur Kirkland to be loved.

His chest tightens, his breath coming out in a desperate gulp, and he lifts a violently shaking hand to grip at Alfred’s shirt.

For years he convinced himself that by not caring he was protecting himself from pain, but it wasn’t that it didn’t hurt, he was just choosing to ignore just how much everything was truly hurting him all along.

Arthur lowers his face to hide against Alfred’s shoulder, at first just trembling, but an attempt to respond to Alfred comes out as a sob instead. Crying once brought him pain—the more he cried, the more his father and brothers would hit him, but now, after finally telling Alfred everything, Alfred still loves him.

Just like that, something in Arthur finally breaks—a rush of pain coursing through him and twisting his heart and making him sob again. He lifts another trembling hand to fist in Alfred’s shirt and, after years of suppressing everything, Arthur collapses against Alfred, sobs wracking his body as he buries his face in Alfred’s shoulder and digs his nails into Alfred’s shirt. Alfred’s arms immediately tighten around him, pulling him closer, and Alfred’s nose presses against his hair. It all serves to make his sobs increase in frequency and pitch until they give way to desperate wailing.

If only he could have met Alfred sooner—a year, a month, even a day sooner—just a little more time to know him and maybe become a stronger person because of it. He pulls himself closer to Alfred and cries for everything he had and lost, all the pain he tried to pretend didn’t bother him, everything he denied himself, and everything he’s been holding back out of fear of losing love that was never going anywhere to begin with. Most of all, he cries for that love that still terrifies him with just how deep and hard he managed to fall—and this time Alfred truly managed to catch him. 

It hurts—his chest is tight and aches with each cry that escapes his throat, his eyes burn and his throat already feels raw, but it also feels good. It’s something that he should have done a long time ago. Alfred holds him close and rocks him gently, but all Arthur can do is cling to Alfred’s back and cry into his shoulder. He’s ruining Alfred’s shirt, he’s sure, but he’s not going to pull away. Not now, not when Alfred still loves him even though he’s been broken for years. Each sob—broken, desperate and loud—is followed by another until he’s heaving and gasping for air, but he can’t stop crying. 

Alfred starts to pull away and Arthur freezes, his eyes wide and his blood like ice as the terrifying thought that Alfred might leave him makes his heart race. He continues to heave uncontrollably, but he further digs his nails into Alfred’s shirt, refusing to let him leave. Alfred stops.

“I’m right here, Arthur. I’m not going anywhere, but shh, sweetheart, you need to calm down.”

Alfred’s fingers comb through his hair, reassuring him, and Arthur eases his grip so Alfred can pull away just enough to look him in the eye. Alfred’s eyes are red and puffy, and Arthur can see the telltale streaks staining his cheeks, but he knows that’s not what Alfred wants him looking at. Alfred strokes his cheek and takes a deep breath then another one—repeating the same action over and over.

“Shhh,” he says again, and Arthur understands.

He tries to mimic Alfred, though he continues to take breaths in loud, gulping heaves that make his body involuntarily spasm. He finally starts to get his breathing under control, slowing his breathing to a normal pace that is only occasionally interrupted by hiccups. Alfred’s smile is soft as he pulls him back into a hug, and Arthur rests his head against Alfred’s shoulder—the one that isn’t wet and stained with tears.

“Have you thought about talking to someone about this? A doctor, I mean?” Alfred asks and gently rubs Arthur’s back.

Arthur closes his eyes, taking another deep breath before he replies in a weak voice, “I was.”

“Was?”

Arthur shakes his head. He can feel more tears threatening to spill, but he wills them away this time. “It was getting to be too expensive.”

Alfred goes quiet and his hand on Arthur’s back stills. Arthur wonders what kind of face Alfred is making, but he can’t bring himself to lift his head. 

“We’ll make it work,” Alfred finally says and resumes rubbing Arthur’s back. “Even if we have to cut back on things or work more hours or hell, even beg my parents for money, we’ll make it work. All right? But you’ve gotta try your hardest, too. I really want you to be happy, Arthur, but I’m just a kid. There’s only so much I can do.”

“You do more than I think you’ll ever truly realize,” Arthur replies, letting out a deep sigh. 

Alfred pulls away again, and although Arthur would rather keep his head against Alfred’s shoulder, he’s too tired to protest. Alfred smiles at him, gentle.

“Did you really think I’d stop loving you because of that?”

It’s not an accusation—his tone is curious, but not demanding. He’s just being honest and utterly ridiculous, as always.

Arthur’s eyes widen, and while he’d managed to fight off the urge to cry before, he can’t now. He begins to tremble once more, sniffling as he thinks about how many times he’d believed that telling Alfred the truth would end everything. “Yes. There have been many times I thought you would stop, but I was certain that this would be the end of your patience.”

Alfred’s thumb brushes away his tears and Arthur closes his eyes as Alfred kisses the corners of them. He shakes his head, making Alfred pull back, and then pushes forward, pressing his face into Alfred’s shoulder again. Just once—just this one time he’ll allow himself a moment of complete weakness. He cries quietly against Alfred’s shoulder until he’s too exhausted both physically and mentally to do anything but go limp in Alfred’s arms.

* * *

Alfred blinks when Arthur slumps against him, his expression softening when he realizes that Arthur is asleep. He very carefully eases Arthur down onto the bed and lies down next to him, watching as Arthur sleeps—peacefully, he notes.

It was hard to listen to Arthur speak and not tell him to stop, he’d heard enough, and pull Arthur into his arms right then and there, but he knew that Arthur needed to say everything. He needed to get everything off his chest so now maybe he’ll be ready to start taking care of himself— _really_ taking care of himself.

He can’t begin to understand how anyone could ever even think of hurting such a small child or _why_ they would ever do such a thing, but he supposes he wouldn’t be able to understand anyway. He lifts a hand to stroke Arthur’s cheek and smiles softly. He loves Arthur, though. He sees the brilliant, beautiful person that no one else apparently wanted to. While it’s true that Arthur did some terrible things, it’s all in the past. Arthur has been changing for the better, and Alfred has been a witness to it. He lowers his hand and watches Arthur sleep once more.

He really is just a kid, though—unable to take away Arthur’s pain or banish his doubts. What he can do, and what he’ll continue to do, is love Arthur and support him no matter what. Arthur trusts him with the truth, so the least he can do is stay by his side. When Arthur truly decides to seek his own happiness, he’ll be there to help him along the way.

Alfred pulls off his glasses and grabs the comforter to cover them with. He watches Arthur for a moment longer then shifts over to tuck himself protectively around Arthur’s sleeping form. Arthur doesn’t need to be protected—he’s stronger than he gives himself credit for—but just this once Alfred wants to. No more harm will come to Arthur if he can help it, especially not tonight.


	19. Brighter Than Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After baring his heart to Alfred, Arthur starts to get his life on a healthier track, with several little things leading up to one very big thing.

Arthur lets out a deep sigh as he walks down the hallway to his flat, his entire body feeling heavy. Another therapy appointment, another awkward hour trying to talk about things he’s never been very keen on talking about without much difference in the way he feels. A childhood’s worth of suppressed emotional trauma can’t be undone right away, no matter how much he wishes it could. It will take time—perhaps the rest of his life, but it’s something he wants to do. He wants to feel better about himself so he can have a better life. He thinks of the little boy he’d once been, who had believed so strongly that his life would one day get better, and he now has the ability to make that wish come true.

He fumbles with the keys to the door, but when he sticks the key into the lock, he’s surprised to find it already unlocked. His chest tightens. That means Alfred is home, even though he has other obligations. Alfred is following through with his promise to always be home when Arthur comes back from a therapy session. Arthur shakes his head as he goes inside.

“Alfred?”

“In here, sweetheart!”

The voice is coming from the kitchen, so Arthur is quick to shrug off his coat and put it away. Hero sprints toward him from somewhere in the apartment before curling around his legs. Arthur pauses briefly to scratch Hero’s head before he heads for the kitchen. Alfred is sitting at the table chewing on a sandwich and poking at his laptop, but he’s quick to abandon both when he spots Arthur.

“Hey, sweetheart. So…how’d it go?”

Arthur shrugs. “It went well. Tiring.”

Alfred smiles. “You wanna talk about it?”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, instead just staring at Alfred. He could. He could make himself a cup of tea and sit at the kitchen table with Alfred while he talks and Alfred listens. There are times after therapy where there is nothing he wants more than Alfred’s company. That he can rely on Alfred to listen to every word he says and to reaffirm his love when there are no more words to be said are a comfort.

He also knows that there is a point when it becomes too much, though. As nice as it feels to be able to depend on Alfred, he can’t always expect that. Alfred has been exceedingly patient up to that point, but he’s still human, after all. Alfred could grow weary of always taking the weight of Arthur’s emotional baggage on his shoulders and resent him, and Arthur doesn’t want that. There is nothing wrong with having moments of weakness, but there are times when he needs to hold himself up, too. 

For that reason, Arthur shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Alfred turns in his chair, furrowing his eyebrows in a way that says he’s not convinced.

Arthur nods, smiling slightly. “Really, I’m fine, but thank you.”

Alfred stares at him in silence, and Arthur is careful to keep the smile on his face, not even breathing. Alfred finally sighs and stands up.

“Well, guess it’s my turn with the dishes if you want to get started on the laundry.”

Arthur lets out a breath as he watches Alfred head for the sink. “I still don’t see why we can’t have a dishwasher.”

Alfred laughs and rolls up his sleeves, turning to grin at Arthur. “Cause the rent would’ve been higher. And hey, I kinda like doing the dishes, so I don’t mind!”

Alfred turns to the sink and starts to fill it up with water, and Arthur watches him for a moment. This is nothing special or out of the ordinary—he’s seen Alfred wash the dishes many times since they started living together, but he watches anyway. Alfred starts to hum a song as he dips his hands in the soapy water, and Arthur’s chest feels tight.

Something about the simple routine he’s seen many times before makes something click in his head and he has a sudden revelation—a moment of clarity. He and Alfred have built a life together. This is not just a casual arrangement they have. He has a life with a silly boy—no, no longer just a boy—a silly _man_ who enjoys doing the dishes because they don’t have a dishwasher in the home they share together. Arthur sucks in a breath. Such a simple thought—something that’s been a fact for a very long time—yet it overwhelms him anyway.

Alfred starts to bob his head and tap his feet along to the song he’s humming, and it looks ridiculous, but Arthur is overcome with such affection for him that he walks up behind Alfred and wraps his arms around him. Alfred stiffens and a dish clinks in the sink, but Arthur knows that he won’t try to pull away. When Alfred relaxes and resumes washing the dishes, Arthur closes his eyes and squeezes Alfred a little tighter.

* * *

Although Arthur no longer has any doubt about the depth of Alfred’s love for him, he has one major rival he can never beat—Alfred’s love affair with space. 

Alfred is in love with the night sky, and Alfred’s eyes never shine brighter than they do when he speaks of his love for the stars, the planets and everything beyond them. Although Alfred sometimes suffers from the heavy intellectual burden his studies place on him, Arthur knows that Alfred considers every last moment to be completely worth the effort.

It was only a matter of time before Alfred decided to mix his passions, and because it’s something that means so much to him, Arthur can’t refuse when Alfred suggests that they take a weekend trip out to the countryside where they can look at the stars without the light pollution of the city ruining them. The prospect of needing to cuddle close to Alfred because they’re out in the country in the middle of the night is something he doesn’t object to in the slightest.

Alfred’s puppy-like enthusiasm while he sets up his telescope is almost infectious, and Arthur at least watches Alfred with a great deal of amusement as he spreads out one of the blankets to sit on while he waits. Alfred finally beckons him over with a huge beaming grin on his face, and he motions to his telescope when Arthur stands by his side.

“Tell me the constellations you know!” Alfred says, and steps aside for Arthur to look into the telescope.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at Alfred and shakes his head. “I don’t know any of them.”

The look Alfred gives him can only be described as scandalized, which is all the more amusing because he’s completely serious. “ _None_? Nothing showed up in your books ever?”

“They might have, but even if they were described in stories, I couldn’t translate that knowledge to the actual sky.”

Alfred continues to look dismayed, which makes Arthur roll his eyes.

“You know where the North Star is at least, right?”

Arthur shakes his head and Alfred clutches at his head like he’s in terrible pain. Arthur rolls his eyes again at Alfred’s theatrics, but Alfred is quick to recover and step over to Arthur. He points up at the sky, and Arthur tries to follow his trajectory.

“See that really bright one? That’s Polaris, the North Star. And it’s part of Ursa Minor or, you know, the Little Dipper. See?”

Arthur tries to see what Alfred is referring to, but in the end he gives Alfred a blank look. Alfred frowns and moves back over to his telescope. His tongue pokes out between his lips as he makes his adjustments and then he steps aside again, motioning for Arthur to come look through the telescope. Arthur steps over and squints as he peers into the eyepiece.

“See? That’s Polaris. And if you move a little…” Alfred slowly turns the telescope, so that Arthur can see what he’s referring to. “…you can see the Little Dipper.”

Arthur pulls away and squints up at the sky, trying to find what he’d just seen through the telescope. “Yes, I think I’ve got it now.”

Alfred beams at him and leans back over to peer through his telescope. “So if you ever get lost, finding Polaris is one way to find your way back home! Ah…let’s see… You’re a Pisces, right? Let me find that constellation...”

“I’ve never believed in that stuff,” Arthur says as a smile works its way onto his face.

Alfred looks up briefly to give him a smile, but then he’s back to adjusting again. “Neither have I, but it’s still cool to see. Here!”

Arthur steps into place as Alfred pulls back, and as Arthur looks through the telescope, Alfred once again directs it, tracing the lines of the Pisces constellation for him.

They’ve known each other for years, and been together for most of them, but Arthur has never really sat down with Alfred as he discusses and explains space. Whenever Alfred watches documentaries and specials on television, if Arthur isn’t doing something else he’s just content to cuddle up to Alfred without paying much attention to what is actually going on. The way Alfred explains everything, though, Arthur starts to feel guilty that he never pays attention to those programs, because Alfred is clearly knowledgeable. He knows the names of most of the stars as he points out many of the constellations he’s familiar with—his eyes bright as he traces the sky with his hand. Arthur makes a mental note to read up on stars more, so that, even if he will never be on Alfred’s level, he can at least have a better discussion with him.

At last Alfred leaves the telescope to sit on the blanket Arthur had previously laid out. He grabs another of the blankets and wraps part of it around his shoulders. He holds up the other part and turns to Arthur.

“Care to join me?” He waves the blanket around with a smile.

Arthur scoffs, but this was the part he’d been hoping for in the beginning. He sits next to Alfred, accepting the other half of the blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. Alfred leans against his shoulder and stares up at the sky. Arthur follows his lead and his mouth drops open. 

He’s been looking at the stars all night, but seeing them all at once like this is truly an amazing sight. The stars are beautiful, Arthur has to admit, and he’s never seen so many in his entire life. There are no words to describe how humbled he feels, even though he can’t pretend to understand them in the same way Alfred does.

“They’re really something, aren’t they?”

Arthur turns to look at Alfred, who is staring up at the sky with a fond look on his face. Arthur turns his attention back to the stars and he nods, though Alfred won’t see it.

“They’re beautiful.”

Alfred doesn’t respond, and Arthur turns his attention back to the stars. In those moments he feels very small. He’s really just a tiny speck in the universe, after all. In a way he really is insignificant, but not for the reasons he’d been led to believe. Insignificant in the broad spectrum of things, but perhaps not to Alfred, who sits up and brings Arthur back to the present. Alfred stretches and gives him a smile.

“There’s places where you can see even more stars, too. I’d…like to take you to see those sometime, too.”

Arthur nods and gives Alfred a small smile. “I’d like that.”

Alfred’s smile brightens, but it fades again shortly after. “Hey, can I…”

Alfred doesn’t finish the inquiry, but Arthur immediately knows what he wants. Alfred cups his chin and leans over for a kiss, which Arthur is quick to return. The blanket falls to his side as he lifts his hand to stroke Alfred’s cheek. As their kisses become deeper and more heated, he pushes Alfred down onto the blanket, so that he’ll still be able to see the stars.

* * *

Arthur takes his book to a corner of the library and settles in one of the comfortable chairs, pausing for only a moment to take out his reading glasses before he opens the book and starts to read. Alfred is busy doing research for an essay he needs to write, so Arthur has plenty of time to relax and finish a book or two.

Because he doesn’t have to worry about being disturbed any time soon, he allows himself to get entirely lost in his book. When he’s swept up in a story, the outside world and the passage of time don’t mean a thing to him. He’s so caught up in the story that he doesn’t even notice when someone approaches him.

“Hey, can you help me with this?”

Arthur jolts slightly, but he looks up from his book to see Alfred standing in front of him, holding what looks like several pieces of paper. Arthur blinks at him.

“Help with what?”

Alfred grins and holds up his papers. “I finished my paper! Can you read it over for me? Let me know if I need to fix anything? I’ve got a red pen for you to use and everything!”

Arthur lowers his book and looks around.

“Right here?”

Alfred motions to the opposite side of the library. “We can go in one of the group study rooms. Then we won’t have to be so quiet.”

Arthur looks to where Alfred is motioning and then looks back to Alfred. He thinks about saying no, but Alfred has that sad pleading puppy look on his face as he grips his papers. Arthur grits his teeth and finally rolls his eyes.

“Oh, all right.” He pulls off his glasses and stands up, and Alfred’s sad puppy look brightens into a smile. 

He follows behind Alfred, who walks at a brisk pace past bookshelves, computer terminals and other library patrons to reach one of the empty rooms. Alfred holds open the door and bows with a flourish.

“After you, sir.”

Arthur closes his eyes and shakes his head, but steps into the room before Alfred anyway. Alfred follows close behind and shuts the door, and he and Arthur take a seat at the table inside.

“So what is it you want me to do with your essay?” Arthur asks as Alfred pushes the papers across the table. He pulls out his reading glasses again, which he peers over as he waits for Alfred’s instructions.

Alfred shrugs, still beaming, and fishes a red pen out of his pocket to pass across the table. “Oh, you know. Grammar and spelling and all that. I want it to be perfect so I’ll really impress my professor!”

Arthur briefly scans the front page and lowers the papers. He looks up at Alfred again and frowns. “You realize that I know nothing about engineering?”

“Don’t worry about that part, I just want to make sure it reads like I know what I’m talking about. You know, like I’m not just a stupid guy copying a Wikipedia article or something.”

“Hmm.” 

Arthur uncaps the pen with his teeth as he holds the papers in front of him and starts to read. It’s not long before he lowers the papers to the table and starts circling and underlining sentences or words that could be fixed. He scribbles corrections and notes where he can find space. Across from him, Alfred starts to fidget and tap his fingers on the table.

“That’s a lot of red.”

Arthur gives Alfred a brief glance before returning to the paper. “There is a lot that could be improved.”

Alfred lets out a deep, resigned sigh, which makes Arthur stop his work. The expression on Alfred’s face is a pathetic resigned sort of look, and Arthur takes off his glasses so he can see Alfred more easily.

“Alfred, what’s wrong?”

He’s answered with a sarcastic scoff, and Alfred leans back in his chair to glare at the ceiling. “Guess I should have known that I’m too stupid to write a convincing paper.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Alfred presses a hand to his face so that his words are muffled. “That paper. There’s red all over it. How am I going to get through the rest of school if I can’t even write a simple paper?”

Arthur’s expression softens as he watches Alfred, even though he thinks that Alfred is definitely overreacting. He sighs. “This doesn’t mean anything, Alfred. I don’t think of this as a reflection of your intelligence at all. You’re brilliant. I _know_ that you’re brilliant, and—”

“I’m just too stupid to write a paper,” Alfred says, interrupting him. 

“…as I was going to say, you just need a little help in that area. That’s why you asked me, isn’t it? I’m sure it goes without saying that I can’t help you with the actual subject matter, but I know that you know what you’re doing there. You work very hard, Alfred. It shows.”

“I just… Fuck…” Alfred pulls his hand away from his face and turns to look at Arthur. “I just want to be good enough.”

A moment passes as they stare at each other, and the thought that _Alfred_ thinks he’s not good enough makes Arthur want to laugh. He doesn’t, though, lest Alfred think he’s laughing for the wrong reason. Instead he puts his glasses back on and lifts up the papers again.

“You _are_ good enough, but even the masters need a little help now and then.” 

He starts making corrections on the paper again, watching Alfred for his reaction. Alfred’s expression is uneasy at first as Arthur continues to write on the paper, but he eventually relaxes. He folds his arms on the table and rests his chin on top of them as he watches Arthur. With that display of supposed acceptance—or perhaps resignation—Arthur turns his full focus back to the paper, which he continues to pick apart.

“After I fix up everything that you’re pointing out now…will you read it over again for me? Make sure it reads better?”

There’s no need to look up, and so Arthur doesn’t. He bobs his head up and down as the pen scratches against the paper. “It’s really the least I can do for you. I’ll read it over as much as you’d like. Mind you, I won’t go easy on you just because I’m sleeping with you.”

“Ha ha, I didn’t think you would. You read way too much to be anything but a really harsh critic. Did you really mean what you said, though? That you think I’m brilliant?”

Before he can stop it, Arthur’s cheeks burn and he nearly drops the pen. He clears his throat and holds the paper a little higher until he can will away his blush. “Do you really think I’d say something like that just because?”

“Heh. No, I guess not.”

Arthur lowers the paper for the briefest of moments, just long enough to catch the smile on Alfred’s face, and then he pulls it up again to focus on his task.

* * *

If there is one thing that Arthur will never miss in the morning, it’s having a smoke on the balcony before he officially starts his day. Some people need their coffee to get going in the morning—he needs his nicotine.

Normally he hates to be anywhere that could even remotely be considered a public place without being dressed with his arms and legs fully covered, but if the weather permits he’ll sit on the balcony in nothing more than a pair of boxers. Although there are people who sometimes pass on the sidewalk or grass below, Arthur is often up early enough that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him. Even if they did, he’s far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to see anything he doesn’t want anyone but him and Alfred to see.

That particular morning he wakes up a little late and winds up being talked into a shower with Alfred before he can get his usual fix. 

While Alfred works on breakfast, Arthur finally steps outside to smoke his cigarette. Between that and the sex in the shower he’d had with Alfred, he feels the edge being taken off. When he goes back inside, he feels much more relaxed.

Or at least he does until Alfred sets the usual plate of more food than he’ll ever eat in front of him and stares at him with a critical eye. Arthur gives him an impassive look in reply as he starts to pick at his eggs and pancakes.

“Are you ever going to quit smoking?”

Arthur’s fork freezes in the air halfway to his open mouth, and he slowly lowers the fork and closes his mouth to scowl at Alfred.

“What?”

Alfred shrugs and shoves a forkful of his breakfast, which consists of even more food than he gave to Arthur, into his mouth. “I think you should quit. It’s disgusting and it’s just going to make you really sick later.”

“Well, I think you’re full of shit and shouldn’t waste your time worrying about it,” Arthur says and takes a violent bite of his pancakes.

Alfred’s fork clatters to the table, which makes Arthur jump, but he wastes no time in returning the glare that Alfred gives him.

“What the hell? I’m worried about you and your health and you think I’m wasting time? Seriously, Arthur, what the actual fuck?”

“Don’t you have better things to be doing today?” Arthur turns back to his breakfast to poke at it in a way that’s so casual he knows it will just make Alfred even angrier.

Sure enough, Alfred’s nostrils flare and he squares his jaw. “No. I have the day off just like you do so I thought we’d spend some time together. You know, like we usually do and like I want us to do for a very long time to come. But fucking hell, if you’re going to be like this then I’ll go see a movie or something.”

Alfred stands up, abandoning his breakfast and heads for the door. Arthur could let it go, but he stands up as well and follows after.

“Maybe you should. And maybe you should mind your own goddamn business and stop trying to decide my life for me. I thought you hated that sort of thing, hmm?” He’s just fanning the fire, but in his opinion he has every right to do so. For someone who is set on deciding his own life, Alfred shouldn’t be trying to make major decisions like that for him.

Alfred throws his hands in the air and shakes his head. The smile on his face is anything but friendly. “Oh yeah, because it’s so fucking bad that I want you to be healthy long enough for us to be together when we’re old. It’s so bad that I don’t want you to be on a fucking oxygen machine because you fucked up your lungs smoking your entire life. God, please excuse me for caring.”

Arthur meets Alfred’s gaze with a defiant one of his own. He sets his mouth in a grim line as he replies, “And who says we’re going to be together long enough for that to even happen?”

There’s a flash of hurt in the anger in Alfred’s eyes, but any remorse Arthur feels is lost among the genuine irritation he feels at Alfred at the moment. Alfred straightens his back, standing taller, and Arthur braces himself for whatever Alfred has planned. Instead of anymore verbal or even physical retorts, Alfred’s shoulders slump and he whips around to wrench the door open.

“God, fuck you.” He slams the door behind him, and Arthur can hear his loud thumping footsteps slowly fading down the hallway.

Arthur inhales deeply through his nose and glares at the door, but then he stomps right back outside to the balcony and pulls out another cigarette. Alfred has no right to tell him not to smoke when he knows perfectly well that it’s his one remaining vice. The thought of sticking it to Alfred is all well and good, but the moment he pulls out his lighter, he freezes. The flame is mere millimeters away from the end of his cigarette, but his hand trembles and he can’t will himself to light it. After glaring at his hand and the cigarette for what seems like a very long time, he snaps the lighter shut and shoves it back in his pocket.

“Fucking hell, I don’t believe this.” He leans over and holds his head between his hands. Leave it to Alfred to ruin that for him. 

Not being able to smoke like he wants just makes him angrier, and he punches the wall as he goes back inside.

As arguments are wont to go, anger eventually gives way to regret, and instead of stalking around the flat swearing at anything that reminds him of Alfred, he sits on the sofa unable to focus on anything as he wonders where Alfred went. Hero settles in his lap, but Arthur can’t even focus on petting him as he’d usually do. He stares off into space contemplating how he ruined what could have been a nice day. He pulls out his mobile at one point, but even for all of his regret, he’s too stubborn to apologize. He’s not even sure if Alfred would accept an apology. He puts the phone away and goes back to waiting.

The sound of raindrops snaps Arthur out of his haze, and he turns to find a sudden downpour going on outside. It makes him frown. Alfred has a car, but such heavy rain can be dangerous. He pulls out his phone and stares at it, hesitating before he flips it open to send Alfred a hasty text message.

“Come home.”

He sighs as the message sends, and he leans back on the sofa to wait. He finally starts stroking Hero’s fur, but the loud purring that immediately follows doesn’t have the same comforting effect it usually does. Arthur stares at the ceiling wondering if Alfred will come home like he was asked or if his stubborn nature will win out in the end.

When the front door suddenly opens, Arthur is quick to place Hero to the side and dart towards the entry hallway. He slows down and calms his expression before coming face to face with Alfred.

Alfred is soaked from head to toe with his hair sticking to his face and his clothes looking very heavy on him. Alfred is putting his wet glasses back on his face just as he closes the door, and he meets Arthur’s gaze. They stare at each other in awkward silence before Alfred speaks up.

“It started to rain.”

“I noticed.”

“I got wet.”

“So I see.”

They fall silent again, and Arthur swallows hard. Alfred shifts his weight, which causes more of the water sticking to him to drip to the floor. Arthur watches as the carpet starts to get soaked, and his focus flickers back to Alfred’s face.

“Stay right there.”

Arthur doesn’t wait for a response as he steps away to retrieve a towel from the linen closet. Alfred is still standing in the same spot when he returns, and his clothes are still dripping water onto the floor. Arthur starts to hold out the towel, but then he pulls it back after something occurs to him.

“You should take off your clothes first. This won’t help much otherwise and it’s best if you don’t drip water everywhere.”

A small smile spreads onto Alfred’s face, but it’s gone just as quickly as it appears. “You just want to see me naked.”

Arthur gives Alfred a blank, unimpressed look, and Alfred sets about removing his sopping wet clothes. When he’s down to only his wet boxers, Arthur steps forward and holds out the towel. Alfred starts to dry himself off, but not to Arthur’s satisfaction. He clicks his tongue and grabs hold of the towel to dry Alfred’s hair. When he starts to move the towel away, their eyes meet and Alfred frowns.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred says.

That makes Arthur’s chest tighten, and he shakes his head as he picks up where he left off. “You’re not the one who blew it out of proportion.”

“But I walked out like a spoiled kid instead of talking it out with you like we agreed we’d do.” Alfred takes the towel out of Arthur’s hands and starts to dry himself off. “I went for a walk, though. It cleared my head so I wasn’t pissed off anymore. Worked well until it started to rain.”

Arthur takes a step back and watches Alfred, staying quiet until Alfred drops the towel of top of the pile of wet clothes. Arthur should really move out of the way so Alfred can get a dry pair of clothes, but he stays in the same position. Alfred doesn’t ask him to move, though, so he takes a deep breath.

“I’m…sorry, too. I should be happy that you care enough about me to worry about my health, but it’s such an ingrained habit of mine that I…” He trails off as he considers his words. It just sounds like he’s making excuses. He is, of course, but in the end all they really are just excuses for something he _could_ realistically change. He sighs. “I can’t promise anything right away, especially not now with all of these emotional changes I’m trying to make, but maybe over time I’ll start to cut back and…eventually quit.”

That’s a strange thought when he’s been smoking for a large portion of his life, but Alfred nods. Alfred starts to reach out as though he’ll grab Arthur’s hand, but then he pulls back. Arthur steps to the side and motions for Alfred to move.

“Go put on some dry clothes before you catch a cold.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alfred slips by and heads for their bedroom. Arthur steps forward to pick up Alfred’s wet clothes so he can put them in the laundry hamper. Even if it feels like they’ve resolved their argument, Arthur doesn’t want to hop right back into pretending that nothing happened. When Alfred re-emerges with a fresh set of clothing, Arthur shoves the hamper into his hands.

“Your wet clothes, you get to do the laundry today.”

Alfred pouts, but he lifts up the hamper and trudges to the door. Before he steps through, he turns back and gives Arthur a sad smile, who returns it with a brighter one. Alfred vanishes as the door closes behind him, and Arthur returns to the sofa. It’s much easier to focus on his embroidery now, and as Hero settles in his lap, the purring is a comfort once more.

Even though they spend it apart, the remainder of the afternoon is not spent in misery. Sometimes giving each other some space after an argument is the best thing they can possibly do for each other. It just makes the part where they make up later that much sweeter.

* * *

After the first incident in the library, Alfred starts to bring all of his writing questions to Arthur, who is happy to do so when it means he can do something for Alfred in return for all of the kindness and patience he’s been shown.

The more he does it, though, the more he realizes that even if he can help Alfred with correcting his papers, he’s still nowhere near Alfred’s level. Alfred is going to be a respectable astronaut someday, and all he does is stock groceries in a supermarket. If they’re really going to be together for an extended period of time, Arthur feels he’ll need to make some sort of change in his life so that he can be a respectable person worthy of being Alfred’s lover.

During his free time, Arthur takes extra trips to the library, where he enlists the help of one of the librarians in deciding what his career options are. They aren’t many, as he’s quick to learn, since he never actually finished school. He can’t go to a university like Alfred because he doesn’t have a high school diploma. Even the most basic of jobs requires a high school diploma, so what he is doing is the only thing he’s technically qualified for, even if he knows he’s much better than the work he does.

His first step then, he decides, is to get his GED. With that, he has far more options available to him. He could get a better job, or he could start his own undergraduate student career. Perhaps both. Armed with a stack of papers full of all of the information he needs, Arthur starts on his self-assigned quest to study for the test.

It becomes rapidly clear to him that his decision to not pursue much in the way of mathematics or science has become his downfall. Even though he tries to read books on the subjects, he reaches a point where the concepts are beyond his skill level. He’d been hoping to surprise Alfred with the news that he took the GED test and passed, but it seems he’ll need to ask Alfred for help, after all.

It’s not as though he’d be asking anything outrageous—Alfred’s field of study is all about mathematics and science, of course—but given that he’s always learned best on his own, it feels strange to finally admit defeat and acknowledge that no matter how self-reliant he’s always been in that area, there are some things he just can’t do.

Even so, his attempts to ask Alfred for help don’t go as well as he’d planned. His stubborn pride gets in the way each time he opens his mouth to ask. It’s when Alfred starts talking about his own upcoming tests that Arthur finally has had enough and blurts out his announcement during breakfast one morning.

“I’m going to take the GED test.”

Alfred is quiet for a moment, but then his face brightens exponentially. “That’s great, sweetheart! No, that’s fucking awesome! Oh man, I know you’ll breeze through it, too.”

Of course Alfred’s confidence in him just makes him feel worse about what he’s about to ask and he fidgets with his sleeve. “Yes, well…that’s the problem.”

Alfred’s smiles fades. “Problem?”

“I…need your help with studying for the math and science portions of the test.” He looks away so he won’t have to see what sort of face Alfred will make in response to that.

Alfred chuckles, and Arthur bristles thinking that he’s laughing at his expense. He looks up, but Alfred’s expression is fond. 

“No problem! I’m not a math nerd for nothing, you know.” Alfred laughs, and Arthur relaxes a little. “So have you thought about what you’re going to do after? Maybe school?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. I’m more worried about even passing the test first. Then I’ll decide what I want to do with it.”

“Sure, sure. Well, awesome! How about we spend some extra time in the library? We can study together and I can help you whenever you need it!”

Arthur returns Alfred’s smile, and he relaxes completely in his chair. Of course he was worried for nothing about asking Alfred, as he almost always is, but he’s still relieved that Alfred doesn’t think less of him for needing help.

Across the table, Alfred is looking at him in what Arthur decides is pride, and that makes him, in a rare moment, feel a little proud of himself, too. Soon he’ll be one step closer to being Alfred’s equal in another way, and that’s something to be proud of indeed.

* * *

Despite how overall unconventional their relationship is, even they have their “normal” moments from time to time. 

One of the things they enjoy doing together is playing pool. Even though Alfred has an advantage because he understands the math behind a game of pool, Arthur can hold his own, as well. When the mood strikes them, they head out to a local bar to play pool. Even though he doesn’t drink alcohol anymore, Arthur looks forward to the day when Alfred is of legal age to drink, and then maybe they can enjoy a drink together—not to get drunk and forget the world like he used to, but just to unwind and relax a little. Everything in moderation.

On that particular “date” of theirs, Alfred plays a good game as usual, but the way he is very distracted is not lost on Arthur. He keeps staring away from the game to glare at something else. Arthur tries to follow his line of sight at one point, but he only sees a couple of girls playing pool at another table. His gaze meets that of one of the girls, and she turns away and giggles with her friend when he does. He raises his eyebrows as he turns back to the game. They’re cute girls, so he’d understand if Alfred was staring at them because he was interested in them, but the way he’s glaring is confusing. Deciding not to think anything of it, he focuses on the game.

Arthur bends over, trying to gauge and line up the perfect shot. Just as he’s about to take his shot, Alfred’s hand grazes over his ass and squeezes. Arthur gasps as the cue ball shoots off in the opposite direction he’d wanted. He stares in disbelief before he turns to glare at Alfred.

Alfred isn’t looking at him, instead staring off towards the pool table and the girls with a pointed look. Arthur punches his arm.

“What the hell was that?”

Alfred turns and smiles sweetly at him. “What?”

Arthur shoves Alfred back and glares at him. “You ruined my shot! That was on purpose, wasn’t it? I get another one.”

Alfred’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open. “Wait, what?? No, you don’t!”

Arthur moves around to the other side of the table next to the cue ball and starts to line up a new shot. He glares at Alfred again. “Yes, I do. Don’t go squeezing my ass just to sabotage the game next time and you won’t have to worry about this happening.”

“But—”

Arthur takes his shot, which winds up being even better for him then his first shot, and he grins as one of the balls sinks neatly into a corner pocket. He smirks at Alfred as he leans on his cue. 

“Your move, darling.”

Alfred’s mouth falls open and he sputters protests and other indignant complaints, but he finally leans over the table to contemplate his next move.

While Alfred is busy, Arthur turns to look over at the table with the girls again that Alfred had been so interested in before. The same girl whose eyes he’d met earlier is staring at him, and she smiles at him this time. He’s not sure what to make of it, and so he turns away, confused.

* * *

One of the worst reminders that no matter how much progress they make, there will always be obstacles in their relationship is whenever Alfred calls home. Inevitably those phone calls end with Alfred feeling terrible, and it’s something that Arthur hates to see. No matter his decisions, Alfred still loves his family and wants them to be part of his life. It’s plain to see just how much it kills Alfred to still be rejected after all of that time.

Usually after such phone calls, Alfred will spend time alone and focus on something else for awhile before he comes seeking Arthur’s company, so the last thing Arthur suspects when he comes home from work one day is to find Alfred sitting on the edge of their bed clutching his phone in his hand and looking miserable. He looks up when Arthur walks in and tries to smile, but it’s obviously forced.

“H-hey, sweetheart. Welcome home.”

Alfred wipes at his eyes and shoves his phone in his pocket, but Arthur is not convinced. He crosses the room and takes a seat on the bed next to Alfred.

“What happened?” 

Alfred stiffens and shrugs, but Arthur gives him an unconvinced look until finally he sighs.

“I called my parents. They wanted to know how we were doing. At first I thought they were starting to come around and accept us, but…heh…” Alfred squares his jaw. “They were just hoping I’d broken up with you. All this time and they’re still doing that.”

As Alfred continues to glare at the wall, Arthur wraps his arms around Alfred’s shoulders and pulls him into a loose hug. Alfred falls easily against him, and Arthur rests his chin on top of Alfred’s head.

“You know that it’s just me they don’t like. It’s not your fault, Alfred.”

“No, it’s not _your_ fault, Arthur. This is about a lot of things. When I think about it, they’ve always been like that. You know… Sometimes I wonder if they really _do_ love me. I mean, they used to like to show me off. Here’s Alfred, straight-A student, football quarterback, does volunteer work and is going to be a great doctor someday.” Alfred shakes his head with a bitter laugh. “They were always looking at me. Always. But even with all of that, I don’t think they ever once _saw_ me.”

Arthur thinks of his own parents—one who abandoned him and one who abused him—and he doesn’t really know what to say about Alfred’s. In his opinion it’s unfair of them to punish Alfred for doing what he wants, especially when what Alfred wants is nothing illegal or terrible. He wants to be an astronaut, not a criminal. But then, Alfred is still dating him and in their eyes he must still be that horrible boy who led their son astray. Arthur frowns, but it’s not his troubles he should be focusing on.

“They’re just worried about you like any good parent would be,” he says and pets Alfred’s hair.

“They just want to decide my life for me. I guess it’s my own fault, though. All my life I did whatever they wanted because I thought that if I made them happy, I’d be happy, too. But I guess if you go through life letting someone else live your life for you then you won’t ever be happy, huh?”

“And you’re happy now?”

Alfred is quiet, and Arthur immediately regrets his words. At last Alfred pulls away from him, and he has a smile on his face. Arthur regards him with uncertainty at first, but Alfred’s smile just brightens.

“Hey, did you know that you’re my hero?”

Arthur scoffs. “You’re not going to start singing, are you?”

“No, I mean it! It’s probably not that obvious, but you saved my life, too.”

Arthur gives him an incredulous look, and Alfred scratches his head.

“I mean…think about. If I hadn’t met you, I’d probably be studying pre-med right now. I’d probably be dating a girl my parents picked out for me and I’d be doing everything they wanted me to do. And I’d be totally miserable. But no, I met you instead. And because of you I realized that I can do things that are just for me, too. It doesn’t always have to be to make someone else happy. So now I’m studying what I want and I’m with someone I want to be with. And yeah. I’m really happy.” Alfred pauses to laugh. “I’m really, really happy.”

“I didn’t…do anything…” Arthur chokes on the words, but Alfred’s grin just widens.

“No, you did. I mean, I don’t want you to think that I’m not getting anything out of this relationship or that you’re not really good for me. So…thank you for helping me become strong enough to do things for me, too.”

Arthur opens his mouth to speak, but only a strange sound comes out. He clears his throat and nods. “I…you’re welcome.”

Alfred’s eyes brighten, but then he pulls his phone out of his pocket and his expression becomes a little sad.

“And if my parents really love me…I hope that one day they’ll be able to be okay with what I want.”

Arthur pulls Alfred against him and presses his nose to Alfred’s hair. “…they will. I can’t imagine they’ll want to do this forever.”

Alfred nods, but Arthur hears him sniffling. He closes his eyes and remains still, letting Alfred cry against him for as long as he wants.

* * *

The sight of Alfred’s face—flushed and covered with beads of sweat—makes Arthur shudder and lose his rhythm for a split second. Alfred groans, clinging to the sheets as he arches up to meet Arthur halfway. If it’s possible to use ridiculous to describe love, then Arthur can only say that he loves Alfred in a way that is entirely ridiculous. He increases the pace and Alfred lets out a soft cry, which is enough to push Arthur over the edge. Even though spots hinder his vision, he doesn’t leave Alfred wanting, and soon Alfred is shuddering through his release, as well.

He pulls out as Alfred catches his breath, chest heaving, and Arthur leans over to brush away his damp hair and kiss his face. Alfred’s eyes finally focus on his, and for a moment Arthur just keeps their faces very close as their heavy breathing mingles and they stare at each other. Arthur lifts a hand to stroke Alfred’s face—that beloved, precious face—and is quick to yield to the embrace that Alfred pulls him into shortly after.

At first he’s content to stay wrapped up in Alfred’s arms, but eventually he turns around so that he’s facing Alfred. Alfred groans in protest, but loosens his hold so Arthur can adjust himself. Arthur searches Alfred’s face, and in that quiet moment something that has always been at the back of his mind starts to bother him. He twists completely out of Alfred’s arms.

“Roll over and face the other way,” he says.

Alfred looks hurt and somewhat irritated. “But why?”

Arthur rolls his eyes and motions for Alfred to turn away. “Just do it.”

Alfred scowls, but he does as asked. The moment Alfred faces away from him, Arthur shifts over and wraps his arm around Alfred’s waist and nuzzles against his neck. Alfred tenses slightly, but he’s quick to relax when Arthur tucks himself closer.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way I treated you when we first met,” Arthur says in a soft voice and presses a kiss to Alfred’s neck.

Alfred tries to turn around, but stops when Arthur refuses to move. “What? Where did this come from? You don’t have to apologize.”

“No. I do. You were nothing but nice to me, but I…” He pauses, wondering if he should go on. Maybe it’s better never to mention what his mindset had been back then. He squeezes Alfred a little tighter. “I thought you were just a phase, like everyone else had been.”

Alfred is quiet for a moment, and Arthur’s stomach churns. He should have kept quiet, after all. Finally Alfred sighs. “I’d…been afraid of that. That all you wanted from me was sex. Well. That was dumb of me to think since it obviously wasn’t the truth.”

“It wasn’t dumb. It’s not like I gave you any reason to believe otherwise. I even acknowledged to myself that because of you I didn’t want anyone else, and yet I still refused to notice that I had been falling in love with you the entire time.” Just remembering that time makes his chest tighten. He furrows his eyebrows, glad that they can’t see each other’s faces in the position they’re in.

“You had your reasons for that,” Alfred says after a moment.

Arthur’s face twists into a frown and he glares past Alfred at a nondescript spot on the wall. “Me being afraid wasn’t an excuse.” 

Silence follows again, and Alfred squirms, but Arthur keeps a firm hold on him. At length Alfred speaks up.

“I think you’re forgetting that I _wanted_ to be around you. I made the choice to spend time with you and have sex with you, even though sometimes I didn’t want sex and just wanted your company. I mean, yeah, there were times that I thought I meant nothing to you, but I was falling in love with you, too. When we were just hanging out, I liked your company. I liked _you_.” Alfred pauses, but when Arthur doesn’t respond he continues. “And like I told you, that’s how you saved me. For the first time I was doing something major in my life that _I_ wanted…something that was just for me. I thought you were really special, and I’d been hoping that one day I’d be special to you, too.”

Tears prick at Arthur’s eyes as he listens to Alfred’s words, and he gropes for Alfred’s hand, threading their fingers when he finds it. “…you were. You were _precious_ to me, but I never once treated you like you were.”

Alfred gives his hand a gentle squeeze. “I forgive you for all of that, you know.”

“…I know you do. I knew you would. I just…had to say it.”

Alfred nods, and the quiet that follows is a comfortable sort. Arthur closes his eyes and lets out a deep sigh. 

_I’ll be good enough for me, so that I can be good enough for you._

* * *

The closed door mocks him, and no matter how much he tries to lift his hand, he can’t bring himself to knock. This isn’t the usual social call or request for help, after all. What he wants is something that is utterly terrifying to him. For what has already been countless times, Arthur shrinks away from Tino and Berwald’s door and flees down the hallway to the stairwell.

As he descends the stairs back to his floor, he mentally chides himself for giving up once again. True, he doesn’t need to do this, and his life will go on just the same if he doesn’t, but he also wants to know so that he can truly put everything behind him and move on. Slumping his shoulders in defeat, he pushes the door to his flat open and steps inside. Alfred is not due back for a few hours yet, so he has too much time to stew in his thoughts and remind himself that he is too much of a coward to face up to his fears.

So instead of remaining idle where demons can nip at his heels, he sends Alfred a text message that he’ll be going out and leaves a note on the kitchen table for good measure. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets as he steps into the chilly air of early spring. 

It’s been almost a year since he ran out on Alfred out of fear of his past being found out—something that he now knows is ridiculous, of course. To think that he used to be afraid of his mother finding out about him and now he wants to confront her.

He pulls his coat closer around him as a strong wind burns his cheeks. No, he’s still afraid of her finding out that he’s nearby and knows about her—and knows about _Peter_ for that matter. The more he comes to terms with what happened to him as a child, though, the more he wonders why his mother left them—left _him_. If he can get a clear answer, maybe he can work past that, too.

So he thinks, but then he remembers how he reacted when he even saw his mother for the first time in years and what happened as a result. The thought of being face to face with her, talking to her, makes his stomach lurch painfully. Instead of helping him, it could just make him move backwards again. Months of progress could be undone in a single moment. He could ask Tino to ask his mother for him, but that would just alert his mother to his presence, and he doesn’t want that either. If he confronts her himself, he can also tell her that he never wants to see her again.

He pauses outside his preferred tea house and goes inside to order a good cuppa with a scone, and he settles in a quiet corner. So much for not stewing in his thoughts, he thinks as he takes a sip of the tea. In the end, it’s basically all that has been on his mind since the thought occurred to him. He might never know any peace until he resolves the issue somehow. Perhaps he could write her a letter and have it delivered through Tino. That way he could get his answers without actually having to face her.

His mobile buzzing in his pocket is a welcome distraction from his thoughts, and he pulls it out to find a message from Alfred that he’ll be coming home early. He smiles and sends a return message that he’ll be back before long, as well. 

As he continues to sip his tea, he starts to wonder what Alfred would think of his plans—if Alfred would support the idea or if he’d try to talk him out of it. He wonders if he should bring it up, because he’s certain that Alfred’s support will make him feel braver and stronger no matter the outcome. He finishes the tea and scone and walks home at a brisker pace than when he left. 

He meets Alfred in the hallway on the way to the flat, and he follows half a step behind Alfred rather than walking at his side. He clears his throat as Alfred unlocks their door, and Alfred gives him a curious look as they go inside.

“What would you say if I told you I want to meet my mother?”

Alfred pulls off his coat and wrinkles his nose. “I’d ask how you’d do that since she left you without any word on where she went.”

Arthur had forgotten that he’d never told Alfred about how he’d already encountered his mother more than once, and he mentally kicks himself. He hangs up his coat next to Alfred’s and motions for him to follow to the sofa. Once they both sit, he leans back and sighs.

“There are some things I haven’t told you, it seems. You remember…when I left you? About this time last year?”

Alfred stiffens, his expression darkening. He nods slowly and purses his lips. “Yeah. How could I forget?”

Arthur closes his eyes. “Well…that boy we saw in the lobby that day... He’s my brother.”

There is a moment of silence and then Alfred sucks in a sharp breath. “Your… _what_? Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so. We don’t share the same father, but his mother is definitely my mother. I…saw her. I’ve seen her a few times, in fact. She is friends with Tino and Berwald. They take care of Peter…my brother…from time to time.”

He opens his eyes again to see Alfred running his hand through his hair with a bewildered look on his face. Alfred opens his mouth and closes it without saying anything a few times, and Arthur allows him to work through his confusion until he speaks up.

“I don’t believe this! We’ve asked them for help how many times and I never knew that they knew _your mother_. To hell with this, we’ve gotta tell them that _I_ want to meet her and give her a piece of my mind—”

“You can’t, Alfred,” Arthur says, interrupting Alfred’s sudden tirade. He grabs Alfred’s arm and holds it firmly. “If I do this, you can’t say a word to her. Not a single one.”

Alfred’s expression is darker than Arthur’s ever seen it, steely with a focused rage that he didn’t think his sweet Alfred was even capable of. Alfred nods slowly, as though keeping himself in check. His expression finally relaxes and he gives Arthur a smile. “If you do, though, I want to be there with you. I want to support you. I…want you to know that you’re not alone.”

Arthur’s heart flutters and he nods, a smile growing on his face. “I think I’d like that.”

Alfred pulls him into a hug, and as he stares over Alfred’s shoulder, he wonders if he’ll live to regret that he ever had such an idea.

* * *

He’s going to vomit. It’s a sure thing. His entire body trembles violently as they stand outside Tino and Berwald’s door. Alfred’s hand finds his and squeezes, and Arthur lets out a hoarse breath.

“Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. Deep breaths, all right? We’ll get through this… _you’ll_ get through this cause you’re strong and deserve to know the truth.”

Arthur nods, not trusting his voice at the moment. If he tries to speak he’s certain that he definitely will vomit. Alfred takes the liberty of knocking on the door for them, and Arthur’s breaths start to increase in frequency immediately after. Alfred squeezes his hand tighter as they wait.

The plan is that Tino invited his mother over under the presumption that he and Berwald want to spend time with her, when instead Arthur will be waiting to speak with her. Tino and Berwald will then leave so that he’ll have time alone to get his questions answered, and then he’ll never have to see her ever again. It was nerve wracking enough to plan it, but now that he’s about to actually go through with it, he’s only ever felt this sick when he was about to tell Alfred about his past.

“If you don’t want to go through with it, we can always just go back to the apartment and forget all about it.”

Although comforting, it’s not what Arthur wants to hear. Perhaps it’s what he _needs_ to hear, though, because he steels himself and gets his breathing under control. “No. I have to do this. I won’t be satisfied until I do.”

Alfred doesn’t get the chance to respond, because the door opens and the intimidating face of Berwald appears. Arthur knows by now that Berwald is even more soft-hearted than Tino, but he still manages to cower under that intense gaze every single time. Berwald ushers them inside with few words and he finds Tino playing with his pet dog. When Tino spots them, his expression is sad.

“Hello, Arthur. Alfred. Are you really sure you want to do this?”

Arthur nods, holding his head up to show his resolve. “Yes, I’m very certain.”

Tino nods and motions for them to follow him into a comfortable sitting room with a large sofa and a reclining chair. “All right. Audrey will be here soon, but do you want anything to eat or drink before then?”

Arthur shakes his head rapidly, knowing full well that his stomach will reject anything he tries to put into it. Alfred also shakes his head. 

“We’re good, thanks,” Alfred says.

“Berwald and I will be nearby if you need us for anything, and I mean it when I say don’t be afraid to call if you do.” 

Tino’s look is meaningful, but it only serves to make Arthur feel even more nauseous. He keeps himself composed, however, and he smiles in gratitude. “Thank you, we will.”

Tino hesitates before he steps away, calling his dog in a language he doesn’t recognize before vanishing out of the room. When he does, Arthur lets out a deep breath and leans forward to clutch his head in his hands. Alfred rubs his back until he stands up straight again.

“Alfred, you have to promise me something. No matter what she says…no matter what _I_ say…please don’t say anything to her.”

Alfred stiffens and he frowns. “Yeah, but what if—”

“Alfred, _please_.” Arthur turns to give him an openly pleading look. Bad enough that he’ll soon be face to face with his mother who could say just about anything to him, he doesn’t want Alfred to be involved any more than he already is.

Alfred’s expression remains stern, but then he swallows and nods. “…yeah, all right. But then…what do you want me to do?”

“You don’t have to do anything, just—mmm…stay by my side. I think just knowing you’re there will be comforting.”

They give each other a small smile, but before they can sit down, Tino’s voice conversing with a woman makes Arthur’s stomach bottom out. His mother appears not long after, and Arthur could swear that at that moment he forgets how to breathe. She’s still well-dressed like all of the other times he’s seen her, with a face that doesn’t look as weathered as it might have otherwise. She has his face—rather, he has hers—and that just makes him feel even sicker. Her gaze meets his and her eyes widen. Behind her, Tino carefully steps away and is gone, leaving only Alfred and Arthur with his mother. 

“…Arthur?”

Arthur sucks in a painful breath and takes a step back, feeling lightheaded. Alfred’s hand at the small of his back grounds him, but his heart still races as his mother moves from the doorway.

“My sweet little boy, look at how big you’ve gotten…”

Her accent is nearly the same as his father’s, and as she gets closer he starts to lose himself again, caught up in the memories of crying for her to come make it better when he was hurting only for her to be gone. The fact that she recognizes him, that she’d have the nerve to call him her sweet little boy. His mind goes into overdrive as she reaches out.

“Don’t touch me!” He swipes violently at her hand and stumbles back, caught only by Alfred’s arm around him. “Don’t come _near_ me.”

She shrinks back with a hurt look and his knees give out. He falls back onto the sofa and he only barely registers Alfred sitting next to him. He stares at his mother, feeling himself slip away. There are many things he wants to do to her—hurt her the way she hurt him, call her every horrible name he can think of, yell at her for stealing his childhood and his innocence and nearly destroying him. His breaths are fast and shallow, and he trembles as he stares at her wondering what he should do to her.

A hand threads with his and gently squeeze, which brings him back to the present. Yes, of course, there’s Alfred. His mother may have ruined him in some ways, but he’s in love with a beautiful person who’s also in love with him, and she can’t take that away from him. He squeezes back and takes a deep breath. He’s here for answers not revenge. No good will come from flying off the handle and doing something he most certainly _will_ regret.

“Mother,” he finally says, ignoring how very weak it sounds.

She sinks onto the recliner, clutching at her chest and wildly looking him over as she lowers her bag to the side. 

“Then you _are_ Arthur,” she says in awe, and she shakes her head. Her lipstick red lips quirk up in the smallest of smiles. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Arthur lets out a bitter laugh, the relieved way she says it giving him the strength to speak with confidence. “Funny how abandoning your children makes it very difficult to see them, isn’t it?”

The small smile vanishes in an instant, and she slowly lowers her hands to her lap. Her expression is stern and she doesn’t cower under his words. “Why are you here, Arthur?”

“I’m not here to reconcile, if that’s what you’re thinking. The only reason I’m even bothering is because I want to move on without you.”

Their stares stay fixed on each other, but then she turns to look at Alfred.

“And who is this?”

Before Alfred can potentially answer, Arthur interjects. “Someone you don’t deserve to know.”

She turns back to him again and her shoulders slump just a little before she straightens her back again. “I’d been hoping that if I ever met my children again we would meet on much friendlier terms than this.”

Arthur scoffs. His mother must have known that leaving her children behind would not endear her to them. He imagines that she’s trying to make him feel guilty for attacking her even before he asks for an explanation, but he’s not a little boy who depends on his mother to make everything better for him anymore. He clicks his tongue.

“You lost that privilege when you walked out on us, and I want to know why you did. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you take any of us with you?”

She looks away, down to her wringing hands and she sighs. “I wanted to take you with me. I wanted all of my children, but I had no idea where I was going or if I could even provide food or a place to sleep. It was safer for me to leave you behind.”

“ _Safer_?” He has to laugh, though it sounds slightly hysterical. The nausea he felt before is replaced with a desperate resolve, further fueled by her words. “You left me to die! I barely had enough to eat and sometimes could not sleep through the night, but those were the least of my troubles. My father and my older brothers who should have taken care of me would beat me and ridicule me instead. If I cried or complained, it would just be worse. Safer? The only thing that was safer for me in that house was death.”

He inhales deeply as he finishes, catching his breath after his outburst. Alfred’s thumb massages the back of his hand, and he slowly relaxes.

She doesn’t say anything, and Arthur is irritated that she’s still staring at her hands instead of at him. On the other hand, it might mean that she feels guilty for what she did, which is what Arthur had been hoping for. She finally lifts her head to look at him.

“I had no choice. I couldn’t stay there any longer,” she says, but there’s definitely a hint of remorse in her voice.

“No choice? You had no choice but to leave your sons? I don’t believe it.” He doesn’t care how bitter he sounds, because her explanation is utter bullshit.

His mother closes her eyes for a moment and when she opens them she looks back down at her hands. “I was selfish, I admit. I couldn’t stand being under his thumb anymore. I didn’t want to be trapped in that prison of being a wife and a mother with more children than I’d planned on having. I thought moving to this country would make things better, but they only got worse. There weren’t the opportunities we thought there would be, and then I got pregnant again. It was more than I could take.”

If Arthur had hated his mother before, her words only solidify his opinion. The implications of her words are not lost on him, though, and underneath the hatred his heart wrenches. It’s something that no child should ever have to know. He swallows hard.

“So you didn’t want me.” It’s a statement, not a question, since he already knows the answer.

She lifts her head, looking him directly in the eye. “…no. I didn’t want you. I didn’t want another child.”

Alfred inhales sharply, and this time it’s Arthur’s turn to squeeze his hand. The truth hits him like a punch to the gut, but he had prompted the confirmation, after all. He wonders if, had they indeed met on the friendly terms she’d been hoping for, she would have ever told him such a thing otherwise. He feels dizzy again, but he fights it off.

“And what about Peter? You don’t want him?” he asks, trying to find the strength he’d had before.

Her face blanches. “You know about Peter?”

He squares his jaw, wondering why it would bother her that he knows about his younger half-brother. “I’ve met him a few times, yes.” 

He’s once again met with initial silence. She searches his face, “That…was after I’d gotten my life back on track. I was remarried and had a stable environment to live in, and I was finally happy again. Oh, but I missed my children terribly. By then I knew I couldn’t go back and get any of you, no matter how much I wanted to. I was an ocean away and I’d been gone for so long that I was afraid that none of you would want me anymore. Peter was my new chance.”

Arthur is the one to stay quiet this time, parsing her words. It was about the time that Peter had been born that he’d finally lost all hope and had given up on his life ever getting better. He wonders if he would have accepted her had she come back then. He’d been so thoroughly broken then that it probably would have just driven him crazy. He has to laugh.

“Well, it seems you were right about one thing, Mother.”

“What—”

“I don’t want to see you again,” Arthur says, interrupting her before she can say anything else. There is plenty more that could be said on both ends, he’s certain, but he’s already gotten the answers he wanted, and he’s heard enough. “If we should ever cross paths again, I want you to pretend that you didn’t see me and go a different way. I want to see Peter, though. I don’t want him to know who I really am, but I want to see him.”

Her expression is blank again, challenging him he feels, but Arthur keeps his head up and his gaze locked on hers. She finally stands up, wavering slightly, and slings her bag over her shoulder. She starts to leave, but pauses next to him without looking at him.

“I hope, Arthur, that one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I’d like to know the fine young man my son grew up to be.”

As soon as she steps away, all strength seems to leave his body. He starts to fall over, but he’s pulled into a rough embrace by Alfred.

“I love you. I want you. You’re wanted,” Alfred says against his neck, and Arthur can hear the desperation in his voice.

Arthur can’t find his voice to respond, but he nods. He lifts his hands to weakly clutch at Alfred’s shaking shoulders. Alfred is crying, but Arthur won’t join him. He’s already wasted enough tears on her and it’s time to move on. He does, however, close his eyes and let himself go limp against Alfred. After that encounter, brief though it may have been, he just wants to be reminded that despite the odds, he’s still loved.

* * *

Arthur nods his acknowledgement at Tino, who waves at him as Peter comes running down the sidewalk. Arthur sticks a cigarette in his mouth and turns away as Peter approaches, feigning indifference. 

Peter stops in front of him and puts his hands on his hips with an entirely too smug look on his face. “Hey, jerk Arthur! Have you finally decided to acknowledge me as your superior?” 

“Not a chance,” Arthur says and ruffles Peter’s hair, shoving him lightly.

Peter flails and bats at Arthur’s hand. “You’re just a jerk! You’ll regret it someday!”

Arthur smirks around his cigarette and shrugs. “And you’re just a stupid kid. Someone I’ll never have to acknowledge.”

Peter pouts, puffing out his cheeks, but he looks around, suddenly smiling. “Yeah yeah, you smoke so much that I bet you can’t catch me!”

Arthur watches as Peter darts across the grass, and he waits a moment before he stubs out his cigarette and follows after—at a casual pace, of course.


	20. Forever It'll Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though they've been together for years, Arthur still has some fears when it comes to getting what he wants in regards to Alfred.

“I’ve never been very good with words…you know that. I’m sorry for all of the grief it’s caused both of us over the years.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, but doesn’t wait long before he continues.

“But I love you. More than I can possibly say…definitely more than I ever thought was possible. I’m sure it goes without saying that meeting you was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His heart skips a beat, but he clears his throat and presses on with the utmost determination.

“We’ve been through so much together, so I know now that I’ll never be truly satisfied if I’m with someone else. It has to be you. I want to be with you. I always want to be your sweetheart. I…want to make you happy. I want to support you and love you, and when you’re a world away seeing those stars you love so much up close, I want to be the person you look forward to coming home to after. I want it to be you that I keep growing and changing with, year after year, hardship after hardship until we’re old men and all of the things that bother us now won’t seem so important anymore. I…really don’t have much to offer except that I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I’ll do my best to make you never regret that it was me you fell in love with and not someone else. So…with all of that said…”

He fishes in his pocket and retrieves the ring he’s been hiding there, which he holds up with a shaking hand.

“Will you marry me?”

His terrified looking expression stares back at him, and he’s quick to scowl. If he looks that scared when he’s just practicing in front of a mirror then there is no doubt in his mind that he’ll look even worse when he’s actually face to face with Alfred. With such prospects, it’s unlikely that Alfred will agree to his proposal. Arthur groans and slips out of the room. He falls face first onto the bed and stays there long enough that Hero decides that his back makes a wonderful impromptu bed. He finally lifts his head and glares at the ring in his fingers. 

He started saving up for it a few months ago, once he was certain that he wants nothing more than to marry Alfred. It’s only a band of silver, but he reasoned to himself that their wedding bands will be much nicer. 

_If_ he can even work up the nerve to ask Alfred, that is—something that seems less and less likely the more he puts it off. 

He lowers his head again and frowns into the sheets.

He wants to marry Alfred. He’s very certain of that now. He wants to keep building a life together with Alfred until they grow old and can reflect on all of the things that happened in their lives. With Alfred going to graduate soon and join the military shortly after, Arthur wants him to know that he’s ready for a lifetime commitment. He wants Alfred to know that no matter how far away he goes, he’ll always have someone to come home to.

Maybe that was what finally prompted him to start saving for the ring—Alfred’s reminders that their continuous time together is growing short. Soon he’ll be spending what may be even years at a time without Alfred. The thought is terribly lonely, but not as lonely as thinking about the two of them spending those years apart in uncertainty. It’s not just that he’ll always be waiting for Alfred—he also wants to know if Alfred will always wait for him, as well. What better way to prove that then by marrying each other?

His reasons aren’t entirely selfish, of course, and his cheeks warm at the thought. He really does want to make Alfred happy and support him through every step of the life they share together. His life is on the path to success at long last—he’s in his second year of college and his therapy has been working. He’s at a point where he can be Alfred’s equal—his _partner_ instead of his burden.

He just wants to be Alfred’s partner in more ways than one.

Hero starts purring loudly and Arthur groans. He rolls to the side and ignores the way Hero yowls in protest. He shoves the ring back in his pocket and reaches out to scratch between Hero’s ears. He just needs to steel himself and get it over with rather than overthinking it and making himself too scared to do it.

Although it’s rather cliché, Arthur decides he’ll take Alfred out to dinner—a _fancy_ dinner—and ask him when the pleasant buzz of wine and good food has settled over them. Alfred’s cheeks will be flushed from the wine and—Arthur shakes his head. He’s just going to give himself more doubts if he thinks about it. 

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, trying to think of a good excuse to take Alfred out to dinner.

* * *

Alfred’s tongue pokes out from between his lips as he adjusts his tie in the mirror, and Arthur has to look away. The more he watches Alfred get dressed, the more anxious he feels. He pulls on his suit jacket and fiddles with the cufflinks while he waits for Alfred to finish. When Alfred does finally emerge, Arthur’s mouth falls open.

Alfred has on his best suit, which accentuates all of the best parts of his body and makes him look like a respectable gentleman. Respectable, at least, except that his tie is crooked, but Alfred never can seem to get that just right. His hair is slicked back, but that stubborn cowlick of his is still sticking up. Even so, Alfred looks amazing, but that is to be expected. He’s always been perfect in all of his imperfections.

It just makes Arthur feel even less certain that he’ll be able to say anything the entire evening.

“So…how do I look?” Alfred holds out his arms and grins.

Arthur wants to say that Alfred looks amazing and perfect and oh god, I love you, let’s spend the rest of our lives together, but all that comes out is a pathetic squeak.

Lucky—or maybe not so lucky—for him, Alfred just laughs. “That good, eh? I knew you couldn’t resist this fine ass body of mine.”

Arthur just nods dumbly and stumbles forward to adjust Alfred’s crooked tie to distract himself. Alfred whines that he doesn’t need it adjusted, but Arthur doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied. When he’s done, Alfred holds out his arm with a bright smile.

“Well, shall we then?”

Arthur looks at Alfred’s arm, considering playing along and taking it, but he shakes his head and walks ahead of Alfred.

“So, where are we going exactly? You just said to dress fancy,” Alfred says when they’re safe in the car and on their way.

Arthur grips at the steering wheel with white knuckles and shakes his head. Maybe he should just tell Alfred where to go and not risk careening off the road and killing them because he’s so nervous. He hasn’t had his license for very long, after all. 

But he’s determined to have everything about the evening be a surprise, so he takes a deep breath and loosens his death grip on the steering wheel. “You’ll see, Alfred.”

Despite Arthur’s fear of horrible deaths in flaming wreckage, they reach their destination without incident. Alfred whistles as he climbs out the car, and Arthur turns to regard him after he hands over the car keys to the valet.

“French, huh? Been awhile since I’ve had that kind of food.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, his anxiety momentarily forgotten. “Oh? You’ve had French food before?”

“Yeah! Francis used to make me food sometimes. I really like crêpes!”

The distraction of Alfred’s previous experience with French food is forgotten in an instant when they’re inside the restaurant. Arthur only just manages to get out that he made a reservation and the walk to their table feels like he’s being led to the gallows. He sits across Alfred and he starts to realize that the fancy dinner plan was really the worst possible idea he could have had. Under the soft lighting, Alfred looks even more amazing than before. At that moment, Arthur is certain that he’s going to vomit.

When the waiter gives them their menus, Alfred’s eyes nearly bug out of his skull as they scan the menu.

“Holy shit, this is expensive!”

Arthur grimaces and nudges Alfred with his foot under the table. “Never mind, Alfred. Get whatever you want, this is my treat.” He turns to give the waiter an apologetic look and motions to the menu. “Do you have any wine recommendations?”

He’s not really listening, though. He turns his attention back to Alfred, who is scowling at the menu. This is it, Arthur thinks. He’s going to propose tonight and he’ll leave with Alfred as his fiancé instead of just his boyfriend. When the waiter says that he highly recommends a particular wine, Arthur asks for that without any regard for what he might have just agreed to spend on a bottle of wine.

“Uh…can you explain what all of these things mean? Or maybe just bring me whatever your closest equivalent to a hamburger is?” Alfred asks, lowering his menu and giving the waiter a lost look.

The waiter makes a face of distaste, but Arthur can’t even bring himself to be exasperated. The ring is burning a hole in his pocket and his suit is starting to feel far too tight and hot on him. He’s not sure if he can even wait until they have their food and wine before he asks. He might faint if he waits too long.

It’s all well and good that he decides he needs to propose early, but then he realizes that he’s completely forgotten the speech he had prepared—something about Alfred being the best thing that’s happened to him and how he has nothing to offer except his love. He tries to speak, but his tongue has conveniently pasted itself to the roof of his mouth.

“So weird French food aside, why the fancy schmancy dinner now? It’s past Valentine’s Day,” Alfred asks as he stares around the room.

Arthur draws a sharp breath, which gives him a momentary sense of vertigo. He clears his throat and stares with pointed defiance at his cufflinks. “Exactly. If we’d come on Valentine’s Day, it would have been too busy and crowded for us to enjoy it.”

Not the best excuse, but the sound Alfred makes says he’s accepted that explanation.

After an excruciating period of time listening to Alfred talk and being unable to say anything in return, the waiter returns with their wine, which Arthur is quick to sip. It really is quite good, but whatever he’d imagined about good food and good wine with an easy proposal is definitely not this awkward scene. He feels like a fool when he still can’t say anything even after their food is brought out. Arthur doesn’t really remember ordering anything, but the dish in front of him seems harmless enough—some kind of game hen.

Alfred beams as he starts eating his French equivalent of a hamburger, and Arthur watches him dumbfounded. He has to do it now. He can’t wait any longer. As Alfred lifts his glass to take a drink, Arthur takes a deep breath and his hand drifts to his pocket.

“Alfred—” He chokes before he can say anything else, but Alfred lowers his glass.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

Alfred smiles, and between that perfect smile and that pet name, Arthur feels all of the blood drain from his face. His hand freezes on the way to his pocket and returns to the table instead. He reaches for his glass of wine, but his hand shakes so violently that he knocks the glass over, spilling wine everywhere. He retracts his hand and clutches at the table to try to get his shaking under control, which makes the plates and silverware on top of it rattle. Alfred’s eyes widen in horror as he surveys the chaos on the table.

“Arthur, what’s wrong?!”

He stands up abruptly and shakes his head. “Nothing, nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry, excuse me.”

He rushes away and Alfred starts to call after him, but the waiter rushes over to the table to clean up the spilled wine. Arthur hears Alfred repeating the same apologies over and over, and he takes the opportunity to slip out of the restaurant and into the night air.

“Fucking… Fuck!” 

Arthur slams a fist against a nearby wall and clutches at his head with the other hand.

How hard is it, really? I love you. Will you marry me? Then he puts the ring on Alfred’s finger and they begin planning the next stage of their life together.

Or maybe he proposes and Alfred says no. It’s suddenly too easy to imagine that lovely face twisting with disappointment rather than brightening with happiness. He feels dizzy just thinking about it. He reels, but manages to catch himself against the wall before he falls over.

This was a terrible idea, after all. He needs it to be more casual—the way they usually act around each other rather than trying to dress it up with something fancy. After he swallows his pride, he trudges back into the restaurant, where Alfred’s eyes widen when he sees him.

“Arthur! Are you okay?? What happened? Was it because I was an ass to the waiter? I’m sorry, but Francis always used to explain what was in the food before he let me eat it, so I got really confused—”

“It’s not that, Alfred,” Arthur says in a weary voice, interrupting Alfred’s babbling apology. “Let’s just enjoy our dinner, shall we?”

With some effort, Arthur manages to put the fact that he’d failed to do what he’d set out to do out of his mind. He feels much better when he can enjoy the food and company like he’d been hoping for in the first place, even if the ring feels like a huge weight in his pocket.

* * *

It takes Arthur a couple weeks before he can build up the nerve to even think about proposing to Alfred again. Even after he starts thinking about doing it, he still can’t bring himself to actually ask Alfred. Maybe he’s being ridiculous, but even if it’s not in fancy restaurants, he wants his proposal to be something special. He wants the right words and the right atmosphere, because Alfred is precious to him and he wants Alfred to know it.

He comes up with a few ideas that he tosses out as ineffective—going to one of their favorite date destinations and using the casual comfort of those places as a way to calm him down and keep him focused on his goal. In the end those seemed like they were _too_ casual and wouldn’t lend themselves to the special atmosphere Arthur is hoping for.

The perfect idea hits him on one particularly clear night. He catches Alfred watching the night sky, and then it’s so obvious to him that he feels like an idiot for not considering it before—he’ll take Alfred stargazing and propose under the light of the stars Alfred loves so much.

Alfred, of course, accepts the idea with an eagerness that can only come from the prospect of doing one of his favorite things in the world. It really is the best scenario he could possibly come up with.

While Alfred is busy deciding what they need to take with them to stay warm on a potential bitterly cold winter night, Arthur comes up with a new speech he can use before he pops the question.

“You really love the stars, don’t you? I know it won’t be very long before you’ll be out there among the stars doing what you’ve always wanted. I’ve been thinking that…it might be nice if you knew you could always count on me being here waiting for you to come home. And…how about a lifetime of stargazing and having to curl up together on cold winter nights lest we get sick? I always want to be with you, Alfred. Will you marry me?”

It doesn’t quite have the same effect as his first speech, but he’s satisfied with that, and he feels much better about his chances of successfully proposing to Alfred.

Like their other scattered stargazing trips over the past couple of years, they start off peering through Alfred’s telescope and looking at the constellations and other celestial bodies before they settle with piles of blankets surrounding them. There’s a definite chill in the air, but it’s not as cold as it could potentially be that time of year. The cards have been dealt in Arthur’s favor this time around, and he snuggles closer to Alfred as he reaches into his pocket and fingers the ring there. Underneath what seems like a river of stars, Arthur feels that he’ll soon be showered with kisses and elated laughter. At least, that’s the way he feels until Alfred opens his mouth.

“Just think, it won’t be that much longer until I’m out in space and can get a better look at those stars,” Alfred says, and Arthur whips his head up to look at him with wide eyes. Alfred smiles back at him before turning his attention back to the sky. 

Arthur swallows hard and begins to tremble. His new speech seems out of place now that Alfred’s said what he was going to say. He tries to save face and just continue with the rest of what he’d been planning to say, but the words escape him. Alfred looks down at him and frowns.

“Hmm? You still cold, sweetheart? Come here.”

Arthur is pulled into Alfred’s lap, and he feels all of his resolve vanish as he’s wrapped in Alfred’s arms and cuddled close. Not that this isn’t the very place he wants to be for the rest of his life, but that’s exactly it—he was supposed to _say_ something like that before it actually happened. He almost growls in frustration, but he manages to simply huff and pull himself closer to Alfred.

He could still ask. He could mention how Alfred’s heartbeat is the most precious sound in the world and he always wants to be the one that heart beats for. He can’t, though. His mouth feels like a desert and the confidence he’d felt before is completely gone.

Alfred could notice, too. He could question Arthur’s strange behavior as of late and give Arthur a lead-in to a proposal. That yes, he’s been acting strangely because he wants to spend the rest of his life with Alfred. Alfred doesn’t always have to be so oblivious.

All of these are just excuses in the end, of course. Still, Arthur decides that it’s best not to make a fool of himself like he did in the restaurant. He still has time, and he’ll find another opportunity that might not be perfect, but it will be special. That’s all that really matters to him.

* * *

Arthur knows that something is up when Alfred enters their bedroom with a CD player and what can only be described as a shit-eating grin on his face. Arthur removes his reading glasses and sets his book on the nightstand as he watches Alfred with apprehension.

“What is the CD player for, Alfred?”

Alfred’s grin widens. “I’m going to treat you to a show!”

Arthur scoffs and folds his arms. He smirks in response to Alfred’s grin. “Let me guess…you’re going to put on the Thong Song and dance around in your underwear.”

“Ha! Close, but no cigar!” 

Alfred sets the CD player on the floor, and Arthur immediately recognizes the song. He groans and lifts a hand to clutch at his head. 

“Oh please, Alfred. Not this ‘sexy and I know it’ song.” 

“Damn right!”

As the music plays, Alfred slowly pulls off his hoodie, dancing badly all the while. He twirls it around and tosses it at Arthur, who throws it off the bed with a pointed look in Alfred’s direction. Alfred doesn’t stop his dancing, though. He starts working on his t-shirt, which he tosses across the room instead of at Arthur.

“Look at that body, look at that body, ah ah ah I work out,” Alfred sings and flexes.

Arthur snorts, but he quickly covers his mouth. He clears his throat, but Alfred’s already noticed. He adds more flexing and upper body movements to his dancing.

“Aw yeah, you’re turned on, aren’t you? You want this hot bod.”

“Lies,” Arthur replies, but he still has to cover his mouth to hide the smile that is slowly growing.

“I got passion in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it…I’m sexy and I _know_ it.” 

With that, Alfred starts working on his jeans, which is a decidedly unsexy maneuver. He finally stumbles out of them, nearly falling onto the floor as he tries to pull them off and dance at the same time. Finally he’s down to just his boxers, and Arthur is finding it increasingly hard to not find the whole thing so ridiculous as to be hilarious. He bites down on his hand and tries to think of things that aren’t Alfred in his underwear dancing in the most unsexy way possible.

It’s when the lyrics turn to “wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle wiggle yeah” and Alfred starts shaking his ass in response that Arthur finally bursts out laughing. He falls back onto the bed clutching at his stomach and struggling to breathe.

Alfred jumps onto the bed and leans over him with a wide grin on his face. Arthur gets his laughter under control and instead stares up at Alfred. His breath hitches as he takes in that playful smile and those bright eyes full of amusement. Without thinking, he lifts a hand to touch Alfred’s face.

I love you. I love you I love you _I love you_. Please marry me.

He could use this as an opportunity. He could sing a song in return and then propose. He’s been thinking about doing that anyway. “There was love all around, but I never heard it singing. No, I never heard it at all till there was you.” Something equally sappy that could convey his love and his intentions. He strokes Alfred’s face and opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is his shallow breathing. 

It comes as no surprise to him that Alfred misinterprets that to mean that he wants sex, so when Alfred starts kissing him and fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, Arthur eagerly welcomes the distraction. He brushes away Alfred’s awkward attempts to get him out of his shirt and pulls it off himself, then rolls over so Alfred is beneath him.

The way Alfred cries out for him, he can almost believe that he’d successfully asked, and this is their way of celebrating their engagement.

* * *

He’s afraid.

In the end, that’s really what it all comes down to—he’s afraid to propose to Alfred.

He and Alfred have known each other for almost six years and been dating for about five of those. Yes, he continues to love Alfred more and more, but there will inevitably be a point when he’ll stop falling. He’s afraid that, instead of loving Alfred just the same, they’ll move in reverse—they’ll fall out of love instead. He knows that it happens. Year after year of the same face, the same voice, the same habits and the same person could grow stale and lead to resentment. The fact that they are each other’s first real relationship could end very badly. He knows that it happens. 

All he has to offer really is just his love. While it sounds nice and poetic, love doesn’t provide the financial security a marriage should have. He’s going to continue on and finish school, but that doesn’t automatically mean he’ll get a job that pays well. He could always be a burden on Alfred despite his best efforts not to be. That could also lead to them resenting each other further down the line when the imbalance between them becomes more and more obvious.

Or—what he’s most afraid of—Alfred won’t even _want_ to marry him. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that Alfred loves him, but loving someone doesn’t mean you want to marry them. The unwelcome thought of Alfred turning down his proposal returns, because even though Alfred is in love with him, he doesn’t want to get married.

All of these thoughts terrify him and render him unable to obtain what he really wants.

It’s always been fear, though, that has held him back from the things he wants. He’s always been able to overcome those fears and have them proven to be completely irrational in the end. This could be the same sort of situation. He just needs to build up the resolve. Even if the situation isn’t perfect, as long as the end result is positive, it doesn’t matter.

He could wait until Alfred’s graduation ceremony, and when Alfred is riding on the high of such an accomplishment, he could take the moment to ask Alfred to marry him. It might make Alfred even happier. 

He knows that wouldn’t be a good idea, though. Alfred’s parents will be at his graduation, and no matter how much they’ve grudgingly accepted that Arthur isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, Arthur has the feeling they wouldn’t want to witness him proposing to their son. Besides that, it’s still a couple months away, and putting it off like that just means more time for him to come up with more reasons and excuses why he shouldn’t propose or why Alfred would never agree.

He could always revisit one of his abandoned or rejected plans, but then Alfred might be suspicious. Suspicion might be best for him, if it gives him the last little kick he needs to just do it. If they didn’t work the first time, it’s not ridiculous to say they’ll fail again.

In the end, all of these thoughts really are just fear and excuses. He could have the most precious thing in the world if he’d only just stop making excuses for himself to justify his fears.

After turning his thoughts over in his head multiple times, Arthur decides to wait it out for a little while and maybe the perfect opportunity will come to him when he least expects it.

* * *

Arthur feels a little put out when after sex Alfred immediately pulls out and gets out of bed to rinse himself off rather than stay and snuggle right away. He does return shortly after with a warm, damp cloth to clean Arthur with, and although Arthur grumbles because he doesn’t need to be coddled like that, he doesn’t stop Alfred either. As he watches Alfred, being so very careful and meticulous, he’s struck again with the thought of how very much he wants to ask Alfred to marry him. At that moment they happen to look at each other, and there’s a flash of confusion in Alfred’s eyes. Arthur looks away, chiding himself for letting his countenance slip. 

Alfred gets up again to get rid of the cloth, and Arthur rolls onto his side, scowling. When Alfred returns and slides up behind him to nuzzle at his neck, he relaxes slightly, but his heart feels heavy.

He doesn't need a ring to prove that he wants to be with Alfred forever. He knows that. A piece of jewelry and a piece of paper they sign in a courthouse won't make their relationship any stronger or weaker. While he wanted to have _something_ to symbolize that he's ready and completely willing to be with Alfred and only Alfred for the rest of his life—no matter how long that may be—there’s no brushing aside his doubts and insecurities. They'll keep working at their relationship either way.

So Arthur tries to convince himself, but even as he lies in bed with Alfred spooning him and kissing at his bare back, he frowns in the direction of where he's hidden the ring. Even if it's such a small thing—four words and ring—it could make them both so very happy. He _wants_ to be happy. 

He hums as Alfred leans forward and nuzzles his face and starts playing with his hand—threading their fingers and rubbing his palm. Arthur starts to reach back to pull Alfred in for a kiss when something cool is slipped onto his finger. He blinks as he looks at his hand, and his eyes widen when he sees what is there.

Resting on his fourth finger is a small gold ring. It's little more than a simple band, but it's a ring nonetheless.

"Alfred—?" He tries to turn around to look behind him, but Alfred squeezes him around the middle with his face buried in his back, leaving Arthur unable to see him.

"Will you marry me, Arthur? I know that you don't want me to promise you forever or anything like that, but I honestly don't want to be with anyone but you, and I really want to be your husband! And...I really want you to be mine."

Arthur gapes at the ring on his finger for a moment, completely taken aback that Alfred just proposed to him. After he's been suffering for weeks trying to set up the perfect atmosphere and tearing himself up inside trying to find the right words to propose to Alfred with—and giving up on that plan—Alfred just goes and slips a ring on his finger after sex. It's almost infuriating.

But then something much more overwhelming occurs to Arthur—Alfred just _proposed_ to him. Alfred wants to marry him. His fear of Alfred rejecting him was completely unfounded after all. Of course. Of course he should have known that. His eyes sting, but he shakes his head with a scoff.

"You are unbelievable."

He disentangles himself, and there's a look of dismay on Alfred's face as Arthur gets out of bed. Arthur goes to fish around in the pocket of his jacket, retrieving the ring he's hidden there. He turns around, returning to the bed and motioning for Alfred to sit up. With a confused and still somewhat hurt look on his face, Alfred complies.

Arthur shakes his head again, but kneels on the bed, taking Alfred's left hand in his. He kisses Alfred's fingers before he slips the ring onto Alfred's finger, then takes Alfred's face between his hands. He manages a weak, but fond smile as he musters up the nerve to finally get the words out.

"It’s not quite what I had planned, but…will you marry me, Alfred? I…want to be with you. Just you. Always."

Alfred looks at him in shock, then at the ring on his finger, and his face lights up in a brilliant smile. Arthur squawks as he's tackled down onto the bed by a laughing Alfred, who pulls away to beam at him.

"Holy shit, yes! God, of course!” 

Arthur lets out a choked laugh of his own and nods, a smile spreading onto his face.

"And yes. I...I will. I want to marry you."

Alfred lets out a shaky sigh then pulls Arthur into his arms, laughing.

"God, Arthur. I'm so happy. Ha ha, I'm _so happy_ ," Alfred says, trailing off with what almost sounds like a sob. Alfred lets out another shaky sigh, and Arthur pulls back slightly so he can kiss him.

Arthur can't deny that he feels the same. He never thought he could be so happy in his entire life, but his heart and head feel so light, and everything is so warm. Never would he have even tried to imagine such a feeling before.

Arthur breaks the kiss and looks up at Alfred, his smile widening at the same rate as Alfred's, and they both start laughing at the same time. Arthur is nearly delirious, but it's such a good feeling that he doesn't care.


	21. Love Will Find a Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some loose ends are tied up. Some into knots.

The wind picks up, nearly taking Arthur’s sandwich wrapper with it. He is quick to slam his hand down on top of it, nearly dropping his sandwich in the process, and he shoots Alfred a glare in response to his chuckling.

His cheeks start to burn, though, when Alfred’s eyes brighten as he stares at Arthur’s left hand keeping the crumpled sandwich wrapper in place. Arthur withdraws his hand, shoving it into his pocket at first. After a bit of hesitation he pulls it back out and lets it rest on his knee as he returns Alfred’s soft smile. Alfred lifts his left hand to run through his hair, and Arthur doesn’t miss the glint of metal in the sun. It still makes his heart race.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Alfred starts to say and takes a quick sip of his soda. “What will you do if I get fat and bald when I’m old?”

For a moment Arthur just stares at Alfred in silence, whose smile fades into a frown. His brow furrows and he shifts on the bench.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Arthur shrugs but continues to stare at Alfred. The corner of his mouth twitches. “I’m just trying to imagine it.”

“No! Don’t imagine it!” Alfred’s eyes widen and he waves his arms. Arthur laughs and Alfred blushes brightly. “Seriously. I don’t want to think about it. I might be one of those gross old guys you hope won’t sit next to you on the bus.”

Arthur covers his sandwich with the wrapper and sets it to the side so he can face Alfred. “Don’t be so dramatic. If anything I’ll be the unattractive old man. Or at the very least a very grumpy and crotchety old man.”

Alfred closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them again he grins. “Naah, you’ll totally be one of those guys who just gets hotter with age. You’ll have all these pretty girls after you, but you’ll be tied down to some fat and bald guy.”

“Some fat and bald guy I expect I will still be madly in love with.” Arthur sets his hands on both sides of Alfred’s face and pulls him down to kiss his forehead. Alfred grumbles a little but doesn’t pull away. “Besides, you’re a fool if you really think you’ll be anything but beautiful.”

“Hey, you never know…” Alfred pulls back a little to look Arthur in the eye. He rests his hands over Arthur’s. “I like how casual you are about this, though. Never would have guessed we’d ever have a conversation like this back in the day.”

That little reminder makes his chest tighten, so Arthur is quick to kiss Alfred to avoid having to respond. Alfred sighs into the kiss and wraps his arms around Arthur, pulling him closer. They’re in public, which should bother him, but Arthur just caresses Alfred’s face as their mouths move together.

* * *

After the first time Arthur told Alfred that he loved him, Alfred had been in a constant good mood for days. Arthur clearly remembers how Alfred would suddenly start smiling to himself, as though remembering a great joke he’d heard earlier.

Compared to how he’s acting now, though, Alfred’s behavior during that time seems almost dull in retrospect.

Accordingly, when Alfred picks him up from behind and spins him around, Arthur just laughs. When Alfred sets him down to nuzzle him, Arthur closes his eyes and reaches back to pet Alfred’s hair, feeling happily and stupidly in love. 

“My friends know now.”

Arthur blinks his eyes open and turns his head slightly to regard Alfred. “Oh? Do they?”

In response, Alfred kisses his nose. “Yeah, you should’ve heard Lizzie when she saw my ring. Thought she was gonna shatter my glasses with how much she squealed. She was disappointed when I told her we’re just engaged and hadn’t run away and eloped, though.”

They both chuckle and Alfred releases Arthur to reach for an apple instead. Arthur takes the opportunity to grab the microwave soup he’d been making for himself. He joins Alfred at the table and slowly slurps on the soup while Alfred stares into space and eats his apple.

“You talked to your brother and Kiku already, didn’t you?”

Alfred turns to him and grins, bits of apple flesh still showing in his teeth. “Mm, yep! They agreed to be in our wedding!”

Arthur nods and swallows another spoonful of the soup, which he stares into briefly before his gaze flickers back to Alfred. “And what about your parents?”

Alfred’s expression darkens and he shakes his head. “You wanna go look at wedding rings soon?”

“We should,” Arthur replies, deciding not to press the issue of Alfred’s parents. “We won’t be able to afford anything fancy, though. We might as well just use the rings we already have.”

“Nah, it’ll be okay. We’ll get some really nice ones. Something to last forever.” 

He starts fidgeting with the apple core and chews on his lip, but before Arthur can ask him what’s wrong, he grins brightly.

“Hey, not to totally change the subject or anything, but I’ve been thinking. Astronauts tend to have a lot of problems with their muscles atrophying, so you might have to be the one to hold me against the wall for sex.”

Arthur abruptly stops eating his soup and stares at him. “I refuse. You’ll just have to strengthen your muscles again when you get back.”

Alfred laughs and stands up to throw the apple core out. The way his shoulders slump is not lost on Arthur, but he’s all smiles when he turns around again, so Arthur remains quiet.

* * *

The wide array of extravagant rings and their respective extravagant prices are literally dizzying, so that Arthur has to occasionally clutch the edge of the display cases to keep from falling over. Alfred is poring over all of the rings with the random interjected “what do you think of this one?” or “that one would be pretty cool, wouldn’t it?” among other things. Arthur is just lost in the selection of gold, silver, platinum, diamonds or no diamonds, should the gold be white gold instead? Are the diamonds blood diamonds or ethical ones? 

It’s perhaps even more nerve wracking than when he bought Alfred’s engagement ring, and he doesn’t even have the stress of needing to propose to worry about. Arthur just stands to the side, dazed, while Alfred does all of the talking.

“This is it! This one right here!”

Arthur shakes his head, trying to clear the haze from his head so he can look at what Alfred is pointing out, which leaves him speechless for a moment. 

Unlike some of the gaudy or flashy things Alfred likes to get to be funny, the ring is simple. It’s platinum, which is extravagant, of course, but the design is understated. No diamonds or other gems, just a platinum band.

“I…do like this, yes.”

Alfred beams. “And we could get them engraved if we wanted to!”

Arthur is sold, that is until the salesman starts talking figures, which makes the blood drain from Arthur’s face.

“Oh. Oh no, never mind. There’s no way we can afford one, let alone _two_ of these.”

He expects a resigned agreement, but Alfred’s face is instead steely with resolve. “We can, don’t worry. They’re our wedding rings, so they have to be really special, right?”

“But… _how_? We sometimes barely make rent, how in the world are we supposed to—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Really.” Alfred smiles at him, but Arthur is not convinced. Alfred lifts his hand and kisses his fingers. “You said you really liked it, right? We’ll make it work, I promise.” 

Alfred kisses his fingers one more time and releases his hand to turn back to the display case, which is Arthur’s sign that Alfred has made up his mind and won’t be convinced otherwise. He hopes that they won’t be without a place to live soon because Alfred decided he wants platinum rings, but for now Alfred is so pleased with the decision that Arthur sets aside his worries. At least for a little while.

* * *

“Have you thought about what you want our lives to be like?”

Arthur lifts his head from where he’d been resting it on Alfred’s neck and grunts.

“What about our lives?”

“Oh, you know, where we’ll live, what we’ll be doing, that kind of thing.”

“…I don’t know. I haven’t put much thought into it. I was more preoccupied with how to propose to you.”

“Ha ha, well… I’ve thought about it a lot. Got an idea for our perfect house already and everything.”

Arthur tucks his head back against Alfred’s neck and cuddles himself closer to Alfred’s back, properly spooning him. Alfred starts to rub his palm and Arthur closes his eyes while he waits for Alfred to continue.

“We’ve gotta have a big house. One with a garden so you can grow roses and maybe we’ll both grow our own vegetables. And of course a big fence or wall to keep the damn kids off our lawn.”

“Ha! Well, I can’t argue with that.”

“Didn’t think you would, heh heh… But the house has to have a lot of rooms so we’ll have places to go when we want to be alone. A big kitchen too so we can cook together. But most importantly I want to have a porch with a swing. That way we can spend evenings drinking beers together or swinging on the swing and talking about our day or just sitting together and watching the world go by.”

Arthur opens his eyes to stare past Alfred at the wall, already picturing Alfred’s imaginary perfect house. “I’ve been thinking that I might want to be a writer,” he finally says.

Alfred turns his head slightly and smiles. “You’d be an awesome one. All the more reason to have a big house so you can have your own office. Maybe it would overlook your garden so you’d have inspiration if you needed it!”

“I think there are other things we need to worry about before we start dreaming up our future house. We’re not even married yet.” He laughs anyway, though. Of course he doesn’t mind the dreams and the possibility of a bright future. It all seems so possible now.

“No worries there! We’ll take care of that little detail soon enough!”

“Indeed.”

Alfred tugs on his arm, so Arthur hugs him closer and kisses his neck.

* * *

The cloudless sky and bright sunshine match Arthur’s mood as he leaves work, armed with the supplies to make the only stew he’s ever been able to successfully cook as a surprise for Alfred. It’s such a lovely day that Arthur opts to skip the bus and walk home instead to enjoy the sunshine. He even manages a smile for everyone he passes.

His favorite café is only a short detour from home, so he opts to get himself a nice cup of tea before he heads home to start cooking. 

As he approaches the café, he ponders trying a new tea variety just to be different when a person sitting at one of the tables outside makes him stop short. As it becomes rapidly clear who it is, Arthur drops the bag of groceries with no heed to the fact that things are rolling on the ground. His limbs are like ice, his stomach is somewhere near his feet while his heart is in his throat.

Sitting at the table is Owen. 

Owen’s eyes widen when he finally notices Arthur standing there, and Arthur sucks in a breath that he just lost his chance to escape. His ears are ringing. Owen shifts slightly and Arthur flinches, which makes Owen frown for a moment before he relaxes again. Arthur, meanwhile, is trembling despite himself.

“Relax, brat— _Arthur_. I can’t do anything to you now.”

“Why are you here?” Arthur’s voice breaks slightly and he takes a step back regardless. 

“I managed to track down mother dearest and that led me here. I honestly had no idea you were here, though. It’s a small world after all, isn’t it?”

Arthur swallows hard and clenches his fists to stop his hands from trembling. He doesn’t trust his voice just yet, so they simply stare at each other until Owen breaks the silence.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Arthur?”

Hearing Owen say his name like that is unsettling, despite Owen’s reassurance that he wouldn’t do anything, but Arthur slowly gathers up the spilled groceries and slides into one of the metal chairs anyway. Owen takes out a box of cigarettes and pulls one out then offers the box to Arthur.

“You still smoke?”

“I’m trying to cut back.”

Owen gives him a curious look, and Arthur is quick to reach out and take one of the proffered cigarettes. Out of habit he reaches into his pocket for his lighter, but he realizes what he’s done too late. Owen’s eyes widen a little.

“Huh. I never thought you’d actually keep the lighter.”

Arthur lights his cigarette and shoves the lighter back in his pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. “No point in wasting a perfectly good lighter.” 

“Hmph.” 

Owen doesn’t press, but Arthur is aware of how he’s being watched. Sized up, perhaps. He twirls his cigarette and notes that Owen is staring at his fingers. He realizes that his ring is visible and he thinks of hiding his hand like he did with the lighter, but it’s no use. 

“You’re married now?”

Arthur shakes his head and blows out a long stream of smoke. “Engaged.”

“She proposed to you?”

He stiffens, not liking the implication behind those words. “We proposed to each other.” Just the way it should have been, he almost adds but thinks better of it.

Owen’s expression is unreadable. Curious, perhaps, but Arthur can’t be sure. “Hmm. So when’s the wedding?”

“You’re not invited,” Arthur says without skipping a beat. 

“Heh. Didn’t think I was.”

Eager to get the subject off of Alfred, Arthur stares at a potted plant on a windowsill and taps his fingers on the table. “I’ve met with her, you know.”

“Who?”

Arthur glances at Owen out of the corner of his eye. “Our mother.”

Owen straightens up and squares his jaw. “Have you? How is our dear mother?”

“I didn’t reconcile with her if that’s what you’re thinking.” He takes a moment to tap ash from his cigarette and frowns. “I met her to cut her out of my life completely. She seems well off, though.”

Owen laughs bitterly, and for a moment Arthur empathizes with his brother. He’d made the exact same sound not too long ago.

“Heh. Fucking figures she would be. Rich arse of a husband, I imagine?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Arthur replies. He stares at the table for a moment, wondering if what he’s about to say is a wise thing to do. “If you do meet her, mind you don’t traumatize Peter.”

“Peter?”

His gaze flickers to Owen again before he looks away. “Our younger brother.”

It seems like a very long time that Owen is silent before he lets out a bark of a laugh. “Fucking hell.”

“He’s a good kid, he doesn’t deserve to know what she’s really like.” 

Owen remains silent for another long moment and then clears his throat. “Do you want to know what happened to everyone else?”

Arthur manages to bite back a sarcastic laugh. “Not particularly.”

“Heh. Once you left, I think that finally broke the spell that was on all of us. Scott went back to England. Last I heard he’s doing pretty well for himself. Rhys is married, too. He has a daughter already and everything. I’m still trying to find my place in the world and instead I find you, little brother.”

The lack of a mention of one particular member of their family is not lost on him. “And our father?” 

“…I wouldn’t know.”

He’s not sure he wants to know, and Arthur realizes that can apply to either of them. They both focus on their cigarettes while Arthur thinks of a way to flee before his nerves fail him again.

“Is it that kid you left with that morning?”

Despite the lack of context, it’s entirely clear what Owen is asking. Arthur freezes—a move that is probably more telling than any words he could ever say. He takes a long, slow drag of his cigarette and stares at the ground. “And? What would it matter if it is?”

“It doesn’t.” Owen stretches out his legs as Arthur looks up, and he also takes a long drag. “I just saw you leave. Never told anyone else because I didn’t know if you were going off to die or start over.”

“I don’t think it would have mattered to anyone anyway,” Arthur responds slowly as he tries to process that Owen watched him leave with Alfred the morning he thought he’d snuck away for good.

Owen taps the table and audibly exhales a few times. “I know it won’t mean very much now, but…I’m sorry. I really am sorry.”

Arthur’s head finally snaps up to look directly at Owen. Owen is looking away, but Arthur can see the tightness in his jaw. Arthur, for his part, is not sure what his emotions are doing and simply sits in silence.

“I never hated you. None of us did. It was just…easier that way.”

Arthur’s fingers twitch, curling to dig into his palms. His uncertain emotions from before begin to reconcile themselves into pure anger at Owen’s audacity. It was easier to beat and belittle him than it was to protect him from the horrors of the world, he says. His entire body shakes as he thinks of tearing Owen apart and giving him every broken bone and black eye and miserable night where he wasn’t sure if he’d wake up ever again. 

He won’t, though. He managed to fight back those emotions when he confronted his mother and he can do it now. On some level he understands. Not that they were justified in the way they treated him, but they were victims, too. He was an easy scapegoat when there were no answers to the glaring question of why any of that happened to them. 

Now he’s eager to put it all behind him and move on. Let go of the last lingering bits of pain and uncertainty that still hang like a veil over him. It seems they’ve started to move on, as well, so this will be good for them, too.

“I…don’t forgive you.” Owen looks up at him, and Arthur looks him right in the eye. “But…I do accept your apology.”

Owen’s expression relaxes back into something neutral and detached, and he nods. 

Arthur stands and rearranges the groceries in the bag before he lifts it up. “Take care of yourself, Owen.”

Owen’s mouth twitches up into a small smile before his expression goes blank again. “You too, brat. Good luck with that kid.”

Without any further acknowledgement, Arthur starts off for home once again. Despite the resolution, his nerves are still frayed when he gets there, so he just puts away the groceries to be used another time. Alfred appears in the kitchen with a bright smile that fades as he watches Arthur violently throw vegetables and meat in the refrigerator. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just got delayed, that’s all.”

“You sure that’s all it is? Because I can—”

Arthur slams the refrigerator door shut and turns to snap at Alfred. “Can’t you mind your own fucking business for once, Alfred?”

Alfred shrinks away, looking hurt, and then he straightens up again and furrows his brow. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but instead he just scowls and stalks away. Arthur’s nostrils flare and he also starts to stalk away, but he stops and takes a deep breath after the first step.

This shouldn’t be happening anymore. He’s been working on this for far too long to regress back to letting the negative feelings toward his family turn him into a terrible person who snaps at someone he loves. He’s gotten stronger than that.

He finds Alfred in their bedroom sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed glaring at his laptop while he furiously types. Arthur leans against the doorframe and clears his throat. Alfred scowls up at him.

“I’m going for a walk. Do you want to come?”

Alfred’s eyes widen as he blinks and slowly sets the laptop to the side. “…yeah, sure.”

They walk in silence, Alfred half a step behind Arthur as he heads for nowhere in particular. After awhile Arthur slows his pace just enough to stand by Alfred’s side and take his hand. Alfred gives him a strange look, but it softens into something sweeter as he cups his hand around Arthur’s.

The silence continues, but the tension is gone, which makes Arthur’s feet light as they walk. He turns to look at Alfred and feels the stress from the morning melt away.

“I’m very happy I met you, Alfred Jones.”

Alfred freezes and turns to look at him, eyes wide.

“This isn’t the beginning of one of those really touching speeches people say before you announce something horrible like you’re dying or you don’t want to marry me after all, is it?”

Arthur’s expression softens and he shakes his head. He can’t help but chuckle a little. “No, of course not. I’m just…counting my blessings, I guess.”

Alfred continues to look uncertain, but finally his face brightens. “Well, I’m glad I met you, too!”

He gives Alfred a small smile and, as Alfred looks ahead, he lets out a shuddering breath that is more like catharsis. As he inhales again slowly, he turns to regard Alfred and that lovely face that’s seen him through what’s been a different kind of hell. It must have been far worse for Alfred, but he’s always been a constant, patient and strong.

Rather than let his gaze linger on Alfred, Arthur also looks ahead. He straightens up a little as they walk and finds that he’s smiling. There is only moving forward from this point on, finally.

* * *

“Are you nervous?” 

Arthur looks over to Alfred, who looks close to vomiting. He huffs and turns his attention back to the doors in front of him.

“No,” he says despite the churning in his stomach.

“Oh, good, at least one of us isn’t.” Alfred laughs until it’s cut off by choking. He starts wringing his hands.

Despite how very sick he looks like he’s going to be, Alfred is as handsome as ever in his best suit, which, given their decision to opt for a simple courthouse wedding, looks perfect on him. The small rose on his lapel matches Arthur’s, but it’s a nice touch. There are no fancy flowers or decorations for their wedding. Just the two of them and their two witnesses.

Waiting on another bench nearby is Kiku and Matthew, said witnesses. Inviting anyone else seemed excessive, and it’s more important to Arthur that Alfred has his most important people here to witness this. Even so, Arthur can’t help but feel that something is missing. It’s something he’s been trying to broach with no luck.

“Are you sure you’re fine with this, Alfred? You really don’t want to tell your parents about this?”

The nausea on Alfred’s face fades to a dark look that Arthur’s been seeing too much of lately. “I did. I asked them about it.”

This is news to Arthur. He sits up a little straighter. “And? What did they say?”

Alfred shrugs and scowls. He turns to stare at the wall and clenches his fists. “They asked if we wanted a big wedding. Said they’d be willing to help pay for it.”

Arthur remains quiet, parsing Alfred’s words. Finally he slowly exhales and stares at the opposite wall. “And what did you say?”

“I turned them down. I started thinking about what that would be like, and I didn’t like it. Just a bunch of people who would be there for free food and booze, or maybe because they just wanted to go to a ‘gay’ wedding. Or, hell, maybe they would have just been forced into coming. Just…it would feel like they weren’t there because they actually wanted to see us get married.”

Arthur nods slowly, the reasons for Alfred’s insistence on a very small, informal wedding becoming rapidly clear. 

“Besides, my brother and best friend are here, and I’m going to marry you. What else do I need?”

“If that’s what you want, Alfred.”

Alfred nods, but then he turns and looks down at his hands. “They paid for our rings.”

“They…what? Who?”

“Our wedding rings. You wondered how we were able to afford them, well…my parents paid for them.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, waiting for Alfred to continue.

“They said if I wasn’t going to let them pay for us to have a big wedding, they were going to at least help us pay for nice rings. Something to last forever.”

The memory of Alfred saying those exact words floods back to him, and he smiles. Alfred also starts to smile, and that dark look finally vanishes. Alfred laughs and scratches the back of his head.

“What about you? You sure you want to take my name? I mean, I’m not going to be mad if you change your mind.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m more than sure. I think it will be a relief to be rid of that name and besides…” He turns to give Alfred a sheepish smile. “I’m looking forward to being the other Mr. Jones.”

Alfred nods, smiling, but the smile is soon replaced with the nausea from before and he starts tapping his fingers in an obvious attempt to hide how his hands are shaking. 

“Man, hope you don’t laugh at the vows I wrote. I just know they’re going to be really dumb in comparison to yours.”

“I could never laugh. I know they’ll be coming from the heart.”

Alfred clears his throat and continues to frown anyway despite a sad attempt at a smile, and Arthur ignores his own anxiety as he shifts closer to Alfred.

He takes one of Alfred’s shaking hands in his and threads their fingers. Alfred looks at him and Arthur smiles gently, making Alfred’s uneasy frown brighten into a soft smile. Alfred squeezes his hand, making Arthur sure that this is right. No matter what hardships or triumphs, pain or happiness, or overwhelming love for a ridiculous boy he met by chance wait in their future, this is what he wants. 

He squeezes back and his smile matches Alfred’s as it widens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the epilogue! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	22. Epilogue: The Wizard Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the neighborhood girls decides to take a rose from old man Jones's garden without being caught—a difficult task when he's a wizard.

The stories have existed for as long as she's lived—at least as far as she's aware. Every time you near the end of the block, you have to hold your breath and run past the fancy gate or else you'll be cursed. The boys always have their games where they dare each other to sneak through the gate and steal a rose from the garden inside without being caught.

Old man Jones is a wizard. That's why he lives alone in that enormous house surrounded by a stone wall—to hide all of his magical trinkets. His garden grows with the use of magic, so to steal one of his roses undetected would mean gaining some of his power. In all the years the stories have existed, no one has been able to pull it off. It’s a sign of old man Jones’s awesome power. 

Sarah has to admit that she’s been curious about what is hidden inside the wall and has even occasionally tried to peek inside the gate as she’s run past it before. She’s never been able to see much beyond a cobblestone walkway and the looming house beyond, with no sign of the infamous garden. That—if she’s to believe the word of her friends—grows just out of view. She’d have to stop and really look inside the gate to see it.

Despite the disapproval of her mother, Sarah has always spent the majority of her time with some of the boys in her neighborhood, futility trying to play the straight man to their mischievous antics. She’s come home on more than one occasion covered in scratches and bruises while her mother sighs and shakes her head as she cleans up the wounds. 

Jake is more or less the de facto leader of their bunch—a self-proclaimed tough guy who still cries over spiders—while Bobby, Isaac and of course Sarah follow his whims. Isaac is her neighbor, and he’s quiet and thoughtful, which makes Sarah wonder why he also follows along with Jake’s harebrained schemes. It’s something that’s always bothered her when they’re off to harass a neighborhood dog or put traps in someone’s begonias. 

The one thing she has never joined them on is their attempts to sneak into old man Jones’s garden and steal a rose. Whenever they talk about going there, she’s always gone off to play somewhere else that doesn’t pose a risk of being cursed. They always call her a wimp and a chicken for it, but it’s a small price to pay for her safety. It’s also one less thing for her mother to scold her for, since her mother is under the mistaken impression that “poor Mr. Jones” doesn’t deserve to be bothered like that.

One particular day her curiosity about old man Jones and his garden gets the best of her, so that as they near the gate, she doesn’t even suck in her breath like she usually does. She _does_ stiffen when Jake stops them and turns around with a fiendish grin on his face. She stares warily at the edge of the gate and then back to his face. 

“All right, guys! Who’s going to get the rose today?” He’s only addressing Bobby and Isaac, and it makes Sarah stiffen.

“I want to see what his garden looks like,” she says in a quiet voice. 

All three of them turn to look at her, and Bobby wrinkles his nose.

“Aww, Sarah, quit wasting our time! A wimpy girl like you will just start crying the second you see him!”

She bristles and furiously shakes her head. “No, I won’t!”

“Yeah, Sarah, you might as well just go home,” Isaac says, making Sarah whip around to gaze at him in shock.

She can handle getting heckled by Bobby and Jake—she’s used to it—but to have Isaac, who has always been nice to her and who she has had a crush on since she can remember, agree with them is too much for her to handle. She blinks back the tears pooling in her eyes and stomps over to the gate.

“I’ll do it! I’ll get a rose like you jerks have never been able to!”

“No, Sarah! Don’t!” Isaac calls after her.

With her slim frame, she is able to easily slip through the metal bars into the yard, where she immediately freezes. She really did it. She’s really inside the gate. The boys continue to hiss at her to come back, but they ultimately give up and run away.

“Damn it, we’re totally screwed if she gets caught!”

“That’s her problem, not ours!”

She turns around to see them running up the street, and for a moment she wants to slip back through and join them, but she takes a deep breath and takes in her surroundings. 

For an old man, the yard is in surprisingly good condition, which only lends to the idea that he’s a wizard who tends everything with magic. She walks carefully on the cobblestones into the grass away from the house, where a tree’s leaves rustle in the wind. It vaguely looks like the apple trees from the orchard her family visits every year, but she can’t be certain. It’s not as though she can ask. 

Planted here and there around the yard are various flowers and herbs—at one point she smells fresh mint—but it’s when she wanders into the garden proper that she falls still. 

Vegetables grow in neat rows alongside flowers she both recognizes and has never seen before. It’s the roses that truly catch her attention, though, and make her wonder if she’s really under a spell. Every color seems to be represented, though the red ones are the most brilliant. Their petals seem so beautiful and delicate that she feels they might break if she touches them. She stands entranced before she remembers her reasons for being there.

She glances in the direction of the house, where a large window looks out over the garden on the first floor and a smaller one above it has half the curtains drawn. She swears she sees movement in the higher window and her heart races. She looks around for something she can use to get a rose without damaging the plant, but she finds nothing. She thinks of just snapping one off and running when a voice behind her makes her gasp.

“You there! What are you doing?”

Sarah turns around to see an old man glaring at her from across the grass. The fact that he’s leaning heavily on a cane does nothing to calm her terror, so without thinking she starts to stumble away back to the gate, but she slips on a stone and falls over. Pain sears through her leg and she cries out, but she quickly rolls into a seated position and scoots away as the old man gets closer and closer to her.

When he gets close, her gaze fixes on the bushy white eyebrows knotting on his forehead. She remembers hearing something about how his power in his eyebrows, which is why they’re so big.

“Please don’t curse me!!” She tries to shield her face with her arms, but he just scoffs.

“You foolish little girl. Stand up.”

Too afraid of what would happen if she disobeyed, Sarah stumbles to her feet, where she immediately winces. She glances down at her leg to see a bleeding cut. It’s not big enough to be of any huge concern, but it’s enough that she knows she won’t be able to run away anymore. Not that running would probably be the smartest thing to do when he’s already seen her.

“Eh? You scratched your leg? Well, come here then. Let’s get that cleaned up…”

He turns to walk back toward the house, and Sarah freezes. Part of her wants to slip away while she has the chance, but the other part is afraid of what he’ll do to her if she does. If she goes with him, he might slip her some poison or something, though. In the end, she quietly follows behind him up onto the porch, where he motions for her to stop.

While he disappears into the house, Sarah looks around, frightened, at the porch and the yard. It’s the closest anyone has probably ever been to that house, but she’s too scared to be smug at her accomplishment. The porch is full of innocuous furniture—a wicker porch swing, a couple of rocking chairs, a wood table that has rings from glasses worn into it and more plants hanging in pots between the columns supporting the porch awning. 

It’s all so harmless looking that it just further adds to the dread that she made a huge mistake by not running and that she’ll never be going home ever again.

He comes back out with a cloth and a bandage and Sarah winces as she’s offered the cloth, but she wipes up the cut, recognizing the sting as the same stuff her mother uses to clean her wounds. She’s aware of how he’s watching her as she puts on the bandage, but she’s careful to avoid eye contact.

“I’ve never seen you before. It’s usually those other brats trying to destroy my garden.”

Sarah flinches but doesn’t respond. She doesn’t want to sell out her friends, even though they ditched her. She just bites her lip and waits for an opening to leave.

“Why were _you_ here then?”

“I…didn’t want them to think I was a wimp,” she says, careful not to be specific about who “they” are. 

“Hmm. I’m not sure why you’d bother an old man just to prove that you’re not a ‘wimp’.”

She stays quiet again, but her cheeks warm. She doesn’t want to admit that it’s only because of Isaac doubting her that she even bothered. He chuckles, though, which makes her look up.

“You care about one of them, eh?” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Oh, the stupid things youth will do for love.”

Her eyes widen at first in shock that he was able to guess her reasons for coming inside, but then she’s quick to bristle and scowl at being called stupid for it. “No offense, Mr. Jones, but what do you know?”

He raises an eyebrow at her and she quickly shrinks back, but he just chuckles again. He takes a seat in one of the rocking chairs and rests both hands on his cane. It’s then that Sarah notices the ring on his left ring finger, dull with age. The thought that he was married makes her head spin. She vaguely wonders if his wife was a victim of his magic.

“Is he really worth it?” Mr. Jones asks.

“He’s always been really nice to me,” Sarah says without pause. She blinks after and bites her lip, though. _Just not today_ , she thinks but doesn’t say out loud. She stares up at Mr. Jones, who is watching her with a curious look on her face. He doesn’t look so frightening when he’s not glaring. “Uh…have you ever been in love before?”

He chuckles. “I’ve been in love before, yes. Far more deeply than most people will ever know in their lifetime.” He has a distant look to his eyes. “Quite a nuisance, it was.”

She slowly nods, though her mind is going crazy trying to parse this. She can’t really believe that the terrifying wizard who curses the children who pass his gate without holding their breath was in love—and married!—before. Then, though, the swing and the two rocking chairs—one that has obviously not seen any use in a long while—along with the beautiful garden make perfect sense.

She suddenly begins to see Mr. Jones in an entirely different way—a grieving widow desperate to continue to keep the garden he’d so lovingly grown with his wife going. Meanwhile people like Jake want to bother him and steal his roses because of stories passed around. It’s so tragic and yet so romantic that she can’t help but blush and tear up.

“Didn’t you ever have any kids?”

Mr. Jones shakes his head. “I never wanted any. My wishes were respected.” His face twists into a frown. “Now that I have foolish brats harassing me all the time, I believe my wishes were justified.”

Sarah winces again and shifts back and forth on her feet. “I’m…really sorry I came in here.”

He waves his hand dismissively and stands up again. “Never mind, just don’t come back. Tending my garden is hard enough at my age without children trampling my hard work.”

“Y…yes, sir!!” She nearly trips down the porch steps as she rushes to get out and stop bothering him. It wouldn’t do to need another bandage so soon.

As she slips out through the gate again, though, Sarah glances back at Mr. Jones as he disappears into the house again and smiles. She knows that she won’t be holding her breath or running past the gate in fear anymore. 

All she has to worry about is getting scolded by her mother for her actions.

* * *

When he’s certain that the girl is gone, Arthur brings a fresh cup of tea onto the porch to enjoy. He eases into one of the rocking chairs and lets out a sigh.

He wonders if he should have invited her to share a cup of tea with him. He’s been feeling the emptiness in the house lately, and she seemed like less of a brat than the other children who have set foot in his garden. He makes a mental note to invite her should he see her again. He takes a sip of the tea and looks out over the porch and the yard beyond.

The house was their first major investment once they both settled into their careers—a place to store all of the various items they've acquired throughout the years. Photos, souvenirs, and other such items they can't bring themselves to throw away. It also serves as a place where Arthur can grow his extensive gardens. The fact that he's attracted the attention of the neighborhood children is merely an unfortunate side effect. He was a feared delinquent as a child, now a feared old man rumored to be a wizard.

The fact that he’s alone in that enormous house is also just an unfortunate side effect. There’s nothing to be done about either, although he’s gotten very good, he thinks, at playing the part of a powerful wizard who can curse errant children. 

With one more sip of the tea, Arthur sits back in his rocking chair and closes his eyes, letting the last rays of the afternoon sun warm his face.

The creaking of the gate makes Arthur tense up and he reaches for his cane, ready to chase off any other children lurking in his garden. Instead of a neighborhood brat, a familiar cap atop a grey head appears, and Arthur relaxes for a moment before he frowns again. Alfred hobbles up the path and pauses to smile at him—still able to pull off that sheepish smile that Arthur can't stay angry at for very long. He sighs as he hoists himself out of the rocking chair and leans heavily on his cane, climbing down the steps to meet Alfred halfway.

In their younger days, he would have run and thrown himself at Alfred, who would then have easily caught him. Then they wouldn't let go of each other for hours afterward. Although time has dimmed their enthusiasm, it has not touched their passion. 

Alfred lowers his suitcase to the ground and opens his arms, and Arthur closes the distance and folds him into a light embrace. Even though it is very simple, the gesture is no less meaningful than the feverish kisses of their youth.

Years of staring at the Earth from space shuttles and stations gave Alfred an incurable wanderlust that persisted well after his last trip in space. Arthur has joined Alfred on a few of these trips to locations around the world both exotic and harmless, but more often than not he stays behind and waits.

After all, Alfred always comes home in the end.

“Welcome home again,” he says as he pulls away from Alfred, and he returns the smile that Alfred gives him.

“Sorry it took me so long this time, sweetheart.”

Arthur gently kisses Alfred on the lips and shakes his head. Alfred lifts his suitcase again, and their free hands find each other. 

Arthur looks down at their clasped hands, seeing the matching wedding band on Alfred's ring finger. It's every bit as dull as his, but he knows that's because neither has ever bothered to take it off.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that's the end. Thank you so much for reading (or re-reading, as the case may be)! Any kudos/comments/bookmarks are appreciated. I've always loved reading comments on this story in particular, since I put a lot of time and effort into it, so it's very near and dear to my heart.
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check the series tag, since I wrote quite a few side stories that go along with this. :)


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